


Heirs and Spares

by Laiquilasse



Series: How to Court an Omega [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha CAM, Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Charles Augustus Magnussen Being Creepy, Claiming, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mild Blood, Omega Moriarty, Omega Mycroft, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laiquilasse/pseuds/Laiquilasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha-Captain John Watson has been invalided back home. His recovery is interupted by an announcent from his parents that his arranged bonding is now in motion, and he is due to meet his betrothed as soon as he is able. John is distraught at the idea of bonding with a young omega he has never met, and a visit to the Holmes' Family Estate does little to help his troubled mind.<br/>There's a complication in the form of a brother, who seems more than happy to interfere with the courtship, and a dark past that hasn't quite faded away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! And welcome to a new ABO fic. The rules in this universe are slightly different to the ones in my 'Of Heat and Hearts' series, but hopefully there's enough exposition to make it clear what's going on. If not, please comment and I'll try and clear things up as I go along.
> 
> Thanks for reading, my lovelies!

Doctors really do make the worst patients. And John Watson was no exception. Being invalided back home was less a disgrace and more an annoyance. He came out of surgery to remove bullet and shrapnel from his shoulder, waking to find his parents at his bedside.

“Oh,” he opened both eyes. “Hey.”

The two men looking at him breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re awake,” John’s mother smiled.

“Just about.” John fiddled for his bed buttons, and his dad handed him the remote. John pressed a button, raising himself into a reclining position. “That’s better.”

John’s mother, Steven, sniffed. “We’ve been out of our minds, John. Honestly, this just proves what I was saying about the army being dangerous – ”

“Darling, hush,” John’s father, John senior, known as Jack, took his hand. “He’s right, Johnnie, when they came to tell us… We thought you were dead. We thought we’d lost you.”

“I’m ok,” John rasped. “Is there any water?”

“Nil by mouth until the doctor’s seen you, I’m afraid,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Damn beta doctors think they know best. What do you say?”

John thinned his lips. Alpha soldiers were not unusual, but alpha doctors were in the minority. Caring for people was not generally associated with their naturally aggressive natures. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

Steven scratched the back of his head. “We can’t stay long, son, I’m afraid visiting hours are almost over.”

“It’s ok, Mum,” John reached for his hand. “I think I’ll want to sleep again, anyway.” He winced, the pain in his shoulder and chest starting to make itself known.

The two men visiting glanced at one another.

John noticed. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Jack said quickly. “Nothing that can’t wait for another day, at least.”

John was about to ask again when the beta doctor appeared.

“Ah, Captain Watson. Awake and talking, you are doing well.”

“That’s alpha strength for you,” Jack muttered under his breath. John shot him a look.

If the doctor heard, he ignored him. “I’m going to need to do your obs, Captain, if your visitors wouldn’t mind giving us a bit of space..?”

“We were just getting ready to leave, anyway,” Steven stood, his omega instincts making him eager to diffuse the tension in the room. He looked at his son. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Sure,” John nodded. “Thanks for coming straight to see me…”

“Don’t get sentimental on him,” Jack gave John a mock punch that didn’t connect. “See you tomorrow, soldier boy.”

“Bye, Dad. Mum.”

The two men went off hand in hand, and John let the beta doctor take his temperature.

 

*

 

It had been a regular childhood for John. As the child of an alpha-omega pair, he’d had a 50/50 chance of being one of their designations, and he hadn’t shown a preference either way until he turned fourteen. His alpha father had been delighted at his eldest child taking after him, and his omega mother pleased his son was now an adult in body if not yet legally. Both of John’s parents had encouraged him to go into the armed forces when he suggested it, and although they had been surprised by his desire to do medical training, they had never held him back, either.

They were a mostly modern family, with some traditional reservations. Harriet, John’s younger alpha sister, had recently been bonded to Clara – an omega woman she had been betrothed so since her late teens. Alpha women were notoriously difficult to marry off, and the arrangement had been a relief for both families, with Clara preferring women too. The Watsons held the wedding and bonding, and John had watched as his sister walked herself down the aisle, Clara being given away by both of her beta parents. It had been a wonderful day, spoiled only by Harriet’s drunkenness towards the end of the night.

There had been a lingering nag in the back of John’s mind about his own eventual bonding, but he did not want to ask. If he asked, he would know. And he had a life to live without worrying about which woman he would, one day, bite in front of a clapping audience.

So John had embarked on a new tour in the forces, and promptly been shot ten months later.

 

*

 

“That’s it, John, just reach out and pick it up,” the alpha physiotherapist watched him grip the weighty rubber ball in one hand. “And lift, keep your elbow locked?”

“Ow,” John commented.

“As high as you can?”

“Fuck!” John let go, his right arm going to clutch his left shoulder. “Shit, ow.”

“That was very good,” the physio said. “Want another try?”

“No,” John shook his head.

“Ok, then we’ll start again tomorrow. Good job, John.” The alpha made a note on his chart, and John noticed he had a bonding ring on.

“Have you been bonded long?” he asked, nodding at the very shiny thing.

“Oh,” the alpha flexed his hand. “No, not long. A couple of months… It was, er…” he cleared his throat, “not exactly planned, but there you go. The planets must have aligned, or something.”

That meant the alpha had taken the omega in their heat, and they’d possibly been complete strangers before that. It happened a lot. John had been with a couple of omegas, but never in their heats, and he sometimes wondered if it was all it was cracked up to be.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. My Dad was a bit shocked, but there you go.” The alpha clicked his pen. “He thought I liked men, but then Lydia was there…” he shrugged. “Can’t control it when you want someone so badly, can you?”

John made a noise of agreement, and got into the wheelchair for the porter to wheel him back to his room. His parents were visiting soon. “Thanks for today, and… I’m sure babies on the way for you?”

“Oh yeah,” the alpha laughed. “Triplets. Magic number three on the first go. Lydia’s thrilled, but it’s going to cost me a fortune. See you tomorrow, John.”

John mused over the idea of suddenly being landed with three babies out of the blue as he was wheeled back. He got into his bed and thanked the porter just as his parents knocked.

“Hey,” he smiled.

“You’re looking better!” Steven beamed. He said that every time he’d seen John for the last two weeks. “Doesn’t he look better, Jack?”

“Yes,” the older alpha rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Steven, that’s why he’s here. To get better.”

John ignored his father and accepted a kiss and a cuddle from his mother. “I’m getting on well in physio, he said, Mum.”

“That’s lovely!”

“That alpha physio?” His father took a seat. “Isn’t he recently bonded?”

“And his omega’s expecting triplets,” John said, keeping his expression neutral. His father had very set ideas about gender roles and bonding.

“Oh,” Steven put a hand to his chest. “That poor omega. They’re going to have their work cut out. Was it a heat-bonding?”

“I think so,” John blushed, uncomfortable discussing that with his parents.

“Poor dear. At least they’ve got an alpha with a good job to take care of them,” Steven stroked John’s hair. “Speaking of jobs, did you hear back from the medical practice?”

“Yeah,” John said. “They’re more than happy to take me on. They’ve been hoping for an alpha doctor. Some alpha patients won’t visit a beta doctor. They said.”

“That’s wonderful news,” he kissed him again on the top of the head. “So…” Steven glanced at his mate.

Jack nodded. Permission.

“John,” Steven said gently, “we know you’ve been very focussed on the army and so on, but since Harriet’s bonding, we have been wanting to discuss – ”

“What?” John’s face fell, and it seemed that the bottom of his stomach fell away, too. “Mum?”

“John. Your betrothal – ”

“Betrothal?”

“You didn’t expect us to leave you without an omega to love, did you?” Steven asked, looking hurt. “We always wanted you to have your own – ”

“Mum!” John sat up, back throbbing. “Mum, why didn’t you mention this – ”

“Stop interrupting your mother!” Jack stood, alpha pheromones pouring off him, subduing John into silence. “And listen.”

John looked back to his mother.

“Your betrothal was suspended whilst you were on tour,” Steven said. “We couldn’t, obviously, guarantee your safety, so the family asked us to suspend it. And that was when you were eighteen.”

“Twelve years ago?” John gasped.

“The omega was only thirteen at the time, John, his family wanted – ”

“Wait, _his_?” John gawped. “Mum… I like girls!”

“You think you do,” Jack said darkly, from the corner. “Until you smell your omega in heat, and then you realise that primary gender stuff is all bullshit.”

John shook his head, looking back at his mother. “Mum, please. I can’t… some _man_ I’ve never met!”

“It’s binding, John,” he said. “We could break it off at great cost, but…” he looked suddenly sad. “You’re an injured alpha who’s not exactly the youngest, and…”

John realised. His mother was worried he’d never bond. Maybe he had a point. But still… “Mum, please.”

Steven looked deeply uncomfortable. “John… Would you at least meet him?”

John could feel the pressure of his father’s strong alpha presence pushing him to agree to what his parents both wanted. He should be a good son, agree to meet this man, do as he was told. He really should. Just do this, at least. He could meet him, and claim he was repulsed. Maybe the other man would hate him, pity him for his new limp and weak left arm.

Maybe.

John sighed. “What’s… his name?”

Steven smiled. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“Mycroft?” John blanched. “What a stupid name.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to meet his betrothed.

John sort of wished he’d taken his dad’s advice, and dressed up a bit.

The car swept around the immaculate grounds, up a driveway that drew up into a turning circle beside an extremely grand house.

“This is where he lives?” John choked.

“Bonding into Bonds,” his mum smiled.

“Does he know I live in a flat?”

“Yes, it’s not a secret.”

“And he hasn’t said no? God, he must be desperate…” John immediately regretted saying it out loud. If Mycroft Holmes was desperate, maybe that was because no one else would have him. An unbonded omega at 25 was rare – something about him had to be repellent. The thought had kept on bubbling up in John’s mind during his hospital stay. This omega had to be alone, at his age, for a reason.

And it didn’t look like it was because he was short of cash.

They were let in by a butler – an actual butler – and John started to wonder if he’d wandered into the wrong universe when a middle aged alpha-male and omega-female couple dressed in perfectly ordinary casual clothes came to greet them.

“Siger Holmes,” the man said, shaking first Jack, and then John’s hand before moving to Steven. “And this is my mate, Violet.”

“Delighted,” she smiled, not coming forward without her mate’s permission.

Jack and John both greeted her without looking her in the eye, as was polite, but Steven went straight in for a hug, which she warmly returned. Omegas seemed to regard themselves as extended family, as their numbers were relatively few, and they were naturally affectionate with one another.

Siger led the way into what he called the drawing room, but looked just like a normal, large, lounge to John. There was a TV and a few consoles underneath it, modern-looking books and a laptop on the footstool. John relaxed slightly. The house was clearly much more imposing on the outside.

“I expect you’re excited to meet our Mycroft,” Siger said to John.

“Looking forward to it,” John smiled, feeling it not reach his eyes.

“He’s been waiting for you, you know. When he was thirteen, and you went off to war, he worried all the time. We had to stop him watching the news, didn’t we, Violet?”

“Oh yes,” the graceful omega lowered herself onto a chaise lounge. “Fretted terribly if he saw war.”

“He knew he was too young for you then, of course, but he was happy for you to get done what you needed. Understood an alpha’s ambition, you see? And, for an omega, he’s not unambitious himself. Got a tidy little job as a civil servant, at the moment. Government stuff, you know. I’m sure he’d be happy to give that up when you need him at home-”

“I’ve got no intention of telling Mycroft to stay at home and have babies under his feet,” John said steadily. “If he wants to work, he can.”

Violet beamed. “I knew you’d be right for him. I could sense it.” She looked up. “Mycroft, darling, why don’t you come in?”

John’s head snapped around.

A tall man with dark ginger hair stood in the doorway, wearing a suit without a tie. He seemed nervous, and was looking at the carpet. He had a drawn look about him, as if he’d lost a lot of weight in a short time – John wondered if he had been ill – but he looked clever. Unfortunately, and John’s heart sank considerably, he was not conventionally handsome. John wasn’t too straight to notice when other men were beautiful, but Mycroft Holmes was not that. He was ordinary. It was… disappointing, to say the least.

John kept his face impassive, and lowered his gaze to give the omega privacy.

“Mycroft, don’t loiter in the doorway like the cat from Norway,” Siger chuckled. “Come and sit here. We can do your formal introduction in a moment.”

John watched Mycroft cross the carpet – he was very tall, and that made John feel inferior – and perch beside his father on the sofa.

“Your father was just singing your praises,” Steven said.

“Oh?” Mycroft raised his head. “Were there many?”

“Of course. John was just saying – ”

“Yes, I heard,” Mycroft interrupted, looking to John, who kept his focus on Mycroft’s chin. “It’s something I am most keen to continue, Mister Watson. I do very much enjoy my work.”

“I am not about to take it from you, Mister Holmes,” John replied. He could almost see their parents squirming in excitement that the boys were talking without encouragement. “I don’t believe omegas belong in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, and the mood lifted considerably. John just wished he could fancy him, just a little bit. At least he didn’t seem the devil to get along with. Maybe they’d never even have to have sex. That did happen, sometimes, or only in heats if they were both unable to resist –

“John!” Jack nudged him. “I gather you’re a bit smitten, but pay attention, would you?”

“Sorry?” John looked up.

“I said, what line of medicine are you in, now?” Siger asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I start working as a GP, part-time, next month,” John said. “It’s alright money,” his eyes flicked to Mycroft. “I mean, it isn’t anything flash, but it’s enough…”

“Why only part-time?” Violet frowned.

“It was the only positon they had available,” John said. “I’m not shirking, I promise you, Mrs Holmes.”

She smiled. “Heaven forbid.”

“Plus,” a new voice throbbed into the room, “you find it difficult to schedule your own medical appointments, and having two week-days a week free leaves you time to fit in seeing your physiotherapist.”

John turned to see a gangly teenager in the doorway, in skinny jeans and a black top with a faded print of the periodic table on it. The boy was looking straight at John, smirking at his own cleverness, dark curls tumbling into his eyes as he folded milk-pale thin arms over his chest. A distinct smell of presented omega drifted into the drawing room, hitting John square in the face so he had to grip his walking stick to hide a jolt to his system.

John had never wanted another man so much in his life.

“Sherlock, don’t lean on the doorframe,” Siger barked.

The boy – Sherlock – rubbed his back on the frame like a cat before wandering in. “Was I right, though?” he looked John right in the eyes, and John dropped his gaze quickly.

“Excuse me?”

“About your physiotherapist.”

“I… have one, yes,” John kept his eyes on the t-shirt’s print. It was too big for the wearer, and made him look scrawny. He couldn’t be well-built though – he was a slender, beautiful omega, who was a prize in itself.

And John had been given the equivalent of the ugly sister.

“I knew it,” Sherlock grinned.

Siger sighed through his teeth. “Forgive Sherlock, he is somewhat of a wild-card in our family.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock accepted the insult as a compliment.

“He’s going to university in September,” Violet said, unable to help a slip of pride.

John looked up. Omegas did not go to university. “To study?”

“Yes, of course to study,” Sherlock sneered. “Good match for Mycroft here, Father, they can bumble about central London together.”

“Sherlock!”

The teenager shrugged, and went to sit by his mother.

The Watsons didn’t know what to say.

Siger cleared his throat. “Can’t get him bonded fast enough. Not that anyone’ll have him, mind.”

“Really?” John tried not to sound too incredulous.

“It’s fine, until he opens his trap,” Siger shook his head. “How many broken engagements, Violet?”

“Nine,” she said sadly.

“And now he’s off to London, well, it’s suppressants and contraception and the end of that attempt of grandchildren.”

Sherlock pulled a face, as if the thought of children was abhorrent. John had a sudden flash of the teenager with a swollen, pregnant belly, full of pups – his pups – and he had to look back at Mycroft to cure it.

Mycroft, who was staring daggers at his brother, and for the first time looked un-ordinary. Anger sharpened his features into something close to handsome, though not quite there.

Siger stood, obviously keen to drag attention back to his eldest son. “Now… Jack. Shall we let the boys… meet?”

John swallowed hard, suddenly feeling rather weak. He’s seen this done before, everyone had, but it was only supposed to be something you did the once. The meeting. The first contact between the betrothed alpha and omega, and the official start of courtship, which would take six months.

Mycroft was looking at the carpet again, shy. Or acting, but it was convincing. Everyone sat back to give them an illusion of space. Except Sherlock. He was leaning forward, fingers steepled under his chin. Long, pianist’s fingers. What would they feel like when –

 _Stop it, John_.

John stepped towards Mycroft, staying upright as Mycroft did the same. At some point, John was supposed to lower himself, but he was already lower. He decided to use it to his advantage, and waited until they were practically chest to chest, and their eyes had finally locked, before dropping to his knees. It was the only time he would ever be submissive before this omega.

He heard his mother sob, once.

Mycroft’s eyes were the same pale blue as his brother’s. He was almost smiling.

John grasped at Mycroft’s hand, holding it fast, as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed, as if this was the hand of a prince, a god…

“I would have you be mine,” John said clearly.

Mycroft said nothing, looking over John, surveying his features. Then yanked his hand away. “No.”

It was expected, but it still felt off, this refusal from an omega. Mycroft gave John a quick smile, then left the room, followed by his mother, and John stood up to receive handshakes.

“And now you get to court him,” Jack said, clapping his son on the back. “Win him round, and then, bonding.”

John nodded, taking a hug from his mother.

Over her shoulder he could see Sherlock Holmes, looking at him as though he was a specimen in a jar.

And he rather liked it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins his courtship of Mycroft, but it isn't a smooth ride.

**Courtship of Omegas, In Six Easy Gifts**

  1. **Nourishment**
  2. **Clothing**
  3. **Shelter**
  4. **Comfort**
  5. **Love**
  6. **Monetary Wealth**



**_It is traditional for the first gift to be food and drink. In the 1970s, boxes of chocolates began the ever-competitive scheme of become more and more grand, as staple foodstuffs such as bread and wine went out of fashion. Today, anything from a simple designer sweet to a private banquet constitutes the Gift of Nourishment._ **

****

John read the booklet with raised eyebrows. His mother had presented him with it, with a tap of his nose, and a smile.

“Courtship is a bit complicated,” Steven said. “There are all sorts of unspoken rules, so I’ll try to help you as much as I can.”

“Anything I definitely shouldn’t do?” John set the booklet down.

“Never be disrespectful,” Steven said. “Mycroft might tolerate it, as he is keen to bond with you, but he will be chaperoned at all times and they will report back to Siger and Violet. So stay on your best behaviour – no eye contact unless Mycroft instigates it repeatedly, no touching aside from taking his hand to ask, and otherwise be as much of a gentleman as you can.”

“Who will his chaperone be? A family member?” John tried not to think of Sherlock Holmes, and found a rather vivid imagined-version of the teenager stretching out in his mind.

“Usually an older aunt, but I imagine the Holmes’ will have private security. A beta, of course. They don’t want to make things awkward for either of you.”

John nodded. “Nourishment. Food. Hm.”

“You can be as imaginative as you like,” Steven shrugged.

“What did Dad get you?”

Steven laughed. “He’s got the romanticism of a baked bean, your father, but he did well with my first gift. He gave me a bowl of fruit-shaped chocolates, filled with creams in the flavours of the fruits.”

“I like that,” John nodded. “I’ll see what I can think up.” He looked at his childhood bedroom. He was staying the night as it was closer to the city, and tomorrow he would meet Mycroft to give him his first gift. It was only a week since they’d met at the house, but after tomorrow, they wouldn’t see one another for a month. That was strange to think of. “Do I have to see Siger, Violet, Sherlock, again before…” _the bonding_.

“You probably will. Violet likes to host parties, and she mentioned a Halloween party, bonfire night, Christmas…” Steven blew air through his lips. He hated parties.

“Sounds like we’ll see quite a lot of them, then,” John said brightly.

His mother smiled. “You like it, don’t you, really? You’ve looked happy and dreamy ever since we got back from their house.”

John blushed. “No?”

“Never been a good liar, my boy,” Steven kissed him on the head. “You’re smitten.”

“I am not,” John escaped and stood. “Leave me alone, I’m a grown man.”

“And ready for a good romance,” his mother went for the door. “Enjoy it, tomorrow, won’t you? He’ll be just as nervous as you.” He closed the door gently behind him.

 _He might be nervous, but at least he won’t be sat wishing I’m my sibling, instead,_ John thought ruefully, flopping down on his bed and giving the ceiling a good stare.

 

*

 

By the morning, John had resolved to put the younger Holmes out of his mind. He couldn’t sit in front of his betrothed and think only about his brother. It wasn’t fair. Things were in motion, now, and he’d pretty much made his bed. After he gave Mycroft the first gift, he was landing the first nail in the coffin.

Perhaps that wasn’t the most positive way to think about it.

“Good luck,” Jack clapped John on the shoulder. “Decided what you’re getting him?”

“I think so,” John nodded. “Should be… ok. I hope. I think.”

“He’ll love it because it’s from you,” Steven beamed. “Have a lovely time!”

“Thanks, Mum. See you later.” John gave his dad a final handshake, and walked off to the train station.

The journey passed rather quickly, though John hadn’t brought a book or anything with him. He spent his time listing things interesting about Mycroft. His anger – that had been very interesting. Almost the best thing about him, really. And he had a job, a good job, too. That was different. And John had meant it when he said he didn’t want him to stop working. John did want children (what alpha didn’t?), but he saw no reason for his omega to have to stay at home with piles of babies in every corner. Mycroft seemed nicely spoken, and clever, and well educated.

If only John could fancy him, just a tiny bit.

Physical attractiveness would not, he knew, be a problem once Mycroft was in heat – in fact that was the reason he was seeing him again so soon – because the eldest Holmes’ brother would be in heat the next week, and his family didn’t want John anywhere near him without completing the formal courtship. Once the omega was in heat, sex and genders went out of the window. Alphas wanted to fuck omegas in heat – that was their soul drive, and Mycroft’s looks would be irrelevant. That was why the courtship was so important. Brief meetings, with proofs of John’s desirability as a mate, would boost Mycroft’s fertility. And the bonding ceremony would end in a bite – the bond bite, that would start the omega’s heat within the next thirty-six hours. Time enough for a quick party, and then locking the newly-bonds into a honeymoon suite for the next few days to seal their bond with an alpha’s knot. They would then only be separated by death – Mycroft's death, specifically. If Mycroft died, John could find another partner. If John died, Mycroft would follow him – no amount of medical care could stop that happening. To bond was an omega’s ultimate freedom and sacrifice – they would fulfil their purpose of breeding and being cared for, but they would also lose their independence and sense of self – they would have no choice but to follow their mate in everything they did. They would have no choice but to love them.

Some beta scientists called it _Nature’s Stockholm Syndrome_ , and John almost agreed with them – the way an omega would change once bitten and knotted was not yet understood fully. Omegas who were bitten during the sex they might have in heat would also be bonded, and that could be to a complete stranger, like John’s physiotherapist. But neither party would care – they had a mate for life, and that was all that mattered. Dating was considered a concept for betas only, and falling in love something that could happen before, during or after a bond. What mattered was the alpha and omega being together, devoted to one another. Forever.

John left the station, and followed the directions on his phone to a rather small-looking shop in the centre of town. It looked a little run-down and out of fashion, but the bags and displays in the windows were fancy enough.

The bell over the door rang as he went in.

“Hello,” a girl looked up from arranging stock. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a First Gift for an omega,” John said simply, the words tasting weird.

The girl’s face lit up. “Oh! How wonderful! And you’d like one of our arrangements?”

“Please,” John smiled as her joy. “Is there anything you usually…”

“We don’t get a lot of trade from alphas, sir,” the beta girl said quickly, “but I know what to do. Is there anything they don’t eat?”

John thought about how drawn Mycroft looked. “I don’t think so. He didn’t say.”

“Well, if there is a problem, you can come back and I’ll make you another,” she wrote down the order. “Should be about an hour, if that’s ok?”

“Lovely.”

“Here,” she handed him a candied apple wrapped in ribbons and bright cellophane. “Gift from me, to congratulate your betrothal.”

“Oh, thank you,” John took it and put it in his bag. “That’s very sweet of you. I’ll be back in an hour?”

“Thanks for your business,” the girl said, starting work on John’s order immediately.

John went outside and brushed his jacket down. He had an hour until the order was ready, and another half-hour after that until he’d meet –

“Sherlock?”

A dark-haired teenager halted in front of him at his name. He did a slight double-take. “Oh. John Watson.” He looked confused. “Why are you here?”

“I’m meeting your brother-”

“Yes, I know that, we came in the same car. I meant why here,” he cast his hand at the run-down shops, “specifically?”

“I’ve just ordered your brother’s gift,” John said, turning as red as a pillar-box.

“Oh dear,” Sherlock glanced at the buildings. “Mummy won’t be happy. What is it?”

“It’s a fruit bouquet,” John said, feeling incredibly stupid. He looked at Sherlock’s hands – thumbs hooked into his belt-loops, fingers spidered over his dark skinny jeans.

Sherlock blinked. “A bouquet… made of fruit?”

“I didn’t know what he liked, and he looks as though he might have been ill recently-”

“He’s not been ill, he’s just lost weight,” Sherlock said. He paused. “You should ask him about it. Maybe not directly, though.” John didn’t miss Sherlock’s eyes flicking over him, and oh god, why was he so damn close?

“And why… are you here?” John actually took a step forward. This was not going well.

“I’m going to uni for my induction,” Sherlock held up a lanyard. “This is a short-cut.”

John blanched. “You can’t go this way, it’s full of a- people,” he panicked.

“People?”

“Yes, people. Don’t you have a chaperone, or something?”

Sherlock held a hand to his mouth in a mock-gasp. “Oh, my. Is my brother’s big, strong alpha worried about me making it to class? How scandalous.”

“I’d be worried about anyone in these backstreets,” John tried not to concentrate on the backhanded compliment. “And as an omega, if someone did try to mug you, or anything.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “As if I haven’t learnt how to deal with people yet.”

John raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock snorted. “Look, you can’t walk around as an omega in this world without knowing how to handle yourself. You ignore the whistles and the shouts, and you don’t have headphones on and you keep your wits about you. I’m eighteen, John, not eight.”

“Sorry,” John held his hands up, wanting badly to land them on the omega’s arms. “I just… Ok, let me walk with you? I’ve got an hour, and I’ll… worry, otherwise.”

“You’ll worry? About me?” Sherlock looked baffled. “You don’t know me.”

 _God, I want to know you._ “Not yet,” John said. It was as close as he dared to get to an insinuation.

Sherlock considered, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips, and John felt a throb at his pelvis at the sight of it.

“Ok,” Sherlock said. “You can walk me to class, John. But you shouldn’t tell Mycroft about this.”

“Why?”

“For an omega, he gets terribly jealous,” Sherlock shrugged. “As if I’d ever be interested in his things.”

John’s heart sank. “I see.”

They walked through the backstreets to the university, barely speaking. John had to walk behind Sherlock a couple of times, the wind blowing his omega pheromones right into John’s face as he watched Sherlock’s pert bottom.

This was a very bad idea.

John could feel dread coiling in his stomach. He wanted this omega. Badly. Had he met him differently, he would right now be trying to convince him to kiss, or touch, or meet up again, or _call me if you need help in your heat_ , he might say.

This was his betrothed’s brother, and John was in a mess.

The university came into sight, and John sighed in relief.

“Ok, I trust you to go the rest of the way,” he said.

Sherlock nodded. His cheeks were flushed, though it hadn’t been a long or difficult walk, and he was pressing his lips together as if trying not to speak.

“You’re sorted for lunch money, I hope?” John tried to joke.

Sherlock laughed. “Lunch? I don’t eat when I’m studying, digestion slows me down.”

“Here,” John fished out the candied apple. “In case you want a sugar hit, anyway.”

“What _is_ this?” Sherlock held it to the light. “Is this fruit?”

“Candied apple,” John said. “From the fruit shop.”

Sherlock lowered it, slowly. “Did you… get this for me?”

“Not especially,” John said truthfully, “but I don’t think I’ll eat it, and you look like you need it.”

Sherlock looked at the lolly, then back at John. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” John reached out to stroke Sherlock’s arm, then snatched his hand back.

Sherlock noticed, and his eyes went wide, not in fear, but in interest. John looked back, realising he’d never avoided eye contact with Sherlock, not once, and oh god, they were almost chest to chest, and he smelled so bloody good, what right did he have to look like that and smell like that, and why was he licking his lip again…?

_Kiss him._

John checked his watch, breaking the look between them. “I should get back.”

Sherlock nodded. “You should.”

Should.

John stayed still, glancing up at Sherlock a final time. “Yeah. I’m… Going to be late.”

“Yes, you are…” Sherlock wasn’t moving, either.

John’s eyes dropped to Sherlock’s lower lip. Plump. Kissable. Perfect.

_Kiss him._

“See you around, John,” Sherlock turned on his heel, and walked quickly to the university steps, the fancy candy still in his hand.

John didn’t dare watch his long legs and perfect arse climb the steps. He turned and half-ran back into the town, to pick up the present for the man he was going to meet. His betrothed. Sherlock’s brother. The omega his parents wanted him to mate with and bond with and breed with. The future mother of his children.

Dear god, the thought made his skin crawl. It felt _wrong_.

It felt like cheating.

John was in such a damn mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has suported this fic so far xx


	4. Chapter 4

The bouquet was impressive – it was the size of an expensive floral one, and John had to have the door held open for him to carry out the arrangement of candied and fresh fruit on sticks and in tiny wicker baskets, all encompassed in an ornate box that would fall open in an impressive manner. If he hadn’t had a sickening sense of unease swirling around his stomach, John might have felt proud of himself for thinking of it. But he couldn’t quite allow it. The walk with Sherlock, and the awkward goodbye afterwards had made John’s joints ache. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he certainly believed in lust at first sight, and he’d be lying to himself if that didn’t apply right now.

He had to stop thinking about Sherlock. He was at uni, studying, eating the sweet John had given him, he’d be fine. No one was going to jump him. No, that was none of John’s business, anyway, his parents clearly trusted him, and he was probably on suppressants, though why did he still smell so utterly edible?

_Stop it, John. Stop it, stop it, stop it._

John carried the box through town to the hotel where he’d be meeting his betrothed. He gave his name at the reception, and was shown through to a scarily-formal dining room. The place was about half full of people having afternoon tea, and he could see Mycroft – flanked by a security beta – sitting in a chair beside the windows.

“Mister Watson,” Mycroft smiled, inclining his head as John approached. He eyed the box, and looked almost gleeful, like a child on their birthday. It was… sweet.

“Mister Holmes,” John nodded. “I’ve brought you a gift, if you would do me the honour of accepting it?” He set it on the table. “It’s heavy,” he cautioned.

“Thank you,” Mycroft blushed, and John’s heart rose a little. “May I open it now?”

“Please do.”

Mycroft puled the ribbon off, and the box fell open gracefully, revealing the fruit arrangement. Mycroft’s face lit up, and he grinned widely. “Oh!”

“I thought chocolates were rather boring and traditional,” John said quickly. “I’m sorry if that’s what you were expecting – ”

“No, this is wonderful,” Mycroft touched a peach with a finger. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“A peach?” John teased.

“No, I meant – oh,” Mycroft realised he was being poked at, and rubbed the back of his neck, shy.

“Shall I give you some space, sir?” The beta asked, clearly under instruction to make sure Mycroft was happy with the First Gift before moving away.

“Thank you,” Mycroft indicated the bouquet. “Would you mind?”

The beta moved the gift to another table, and went to sit out of earshot, but with a clear view of the betrothed couple, who took their seats and had Earl Grey poured for them.

“It was a good idea,” Mycroft said, lifting his lemon slice out of his cup. “Father doesn’t like me to eat a lot of sweets, and if it was chocolate, he’d probably have confiscated it.”

“Why?” John frowned.

“I was overweight, until quite recently,” Mycroft said. His eyes were on the tablecloth. “Father didn’t think you’d approve of having a fat mate.”

“Sounds like a nice man,” John snorted, then realised his disrespect. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said – ”

“No, you’re right,” Mycroft shrugged. “He can be awfully brusque. Never quite gotten over the shame of having two omega sons, I think.”

“Shame?”

“Mm.” Mycroft sipped his tea.

“Well, I don’t agree with him,” John said. “As bad as it probably is to say.”

“I don’t think it’s bad of you to say, it’s quite refreshing to know it’s not just Sherlock and I who disagree with him.”

John’s insides rolled over at the younger Holmes’ name. “Sherlock doesn’t get on with your father, I gather?”

“Sherlock doesn’t get on with anybody,” Mycroft set his cup down. “Do you get along with your sibling?”

“Harriet? Sort of. I mean, we did when we were younger, but two alpha teenagers in the house… we butted heads all the time, drove Mum mad with arguing and fighting.” John half-smiled at the memories. “She’s bonded, now. I don’t think it’s going well, though.”

“Was it arranged?”

“Yeah, and they seemed to really like each other,” John went on, enjoying how easy it was to talk to Mycroft. “But Harry has a few problems, and I think it’s putting a strain on them…”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Arranged bondings don’t always go smoothly.” Mycroft looked sad for a moment.

“Are you worried about it?” John asked gently.

“Yes,” Mycroft said without a pause.

“Me, too.”

The eldest Holmes’ brother looked up, meeting John’s eyes for a moment. The same pale blue as his little brother, framed by ginger-brown eyebrows. There was a speckling of almost-invisible freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“I was worried… you wouldn’t like me,” Mycroft said. “If I’m honest, I still am. When Father pointed out I was fat and  - and unattractive – ”

“Your father said that?” John felt a spike of outrage on this omega’s behalf, though one part of him – a nasty little part – agreed with the latter half of the criticism.

“Yes,” Mycroft’s eyes shone for a moment before he blinked. “I’d – I’d always known I was going to be yours, and I was happy for it, but when you began your last tour, Father suggested you might have somehow gotten wind of what I looked like, and you would rather be shot than bond with me – ”

John reached out and took Mycroft’s hand instinctually.

The beta security guard sat up.

Mycroft didn’t pull his hand away, just sat staring at the contact. “You’re not supposed to do that, John.”

“I know. But your father wasn’t right. Mycroft, I didn’t even know you existed until recently. I’d never hurt anyone like that.” John let go, feeling decidedly weird. He felt like a cheat, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Why? He’d given Mycroft the First Gift, after all. This had to be because he’s seen Sherlock earlier, everything was all confused.

“I think I believe you,” Mycroft was saying.

John picked a biscuit from the cake stand on the table. The one Mycroft hadn’t looked at. “I mean it. I’m not one to… I mean, my mother thought you might not want me, because of the stick and the arm, and everything.” John purposely avoided mentioning his own feelings. None of this was Mycroft’s fault. He didn’t need to hurt him.

“I don’t mind those things,” Mycroft said. “It shows you’ve been brave, after all.”

John couldn’t help feeling a flash of pride. “You know, for someone who works and is as clever as you –” Mycroft sat a little straighter “I’m a bit surprised you want to be bonded. Why? I could easily have said I want a trillion babies and for you to stay at home making my meals.”

Mycroft went scarlet, as if he was imagining babies and how they were made. That made John think of it – Mycroft bending over, his body pale as his face, in heat, waiting for John to –

John gagged the biscuit down, suddenly feeling ill.

“I wouldn’t have been too happy, but…” Mycroft bit his lip. “But, alright, this might sound a little stalker-ish, but I sort of watched you? Not like, on camera. But I followed your career. At school, and then in the army… My Father works for the civil service, like me, and he would tell me what you were doing, where you were. Once, he got me a photo of you,” Mycroft brought out his wallet. “Look.”

John took the picture he was handed. It was Lance-Corporal John Watson, aged twenty-two, in dress uniform for Remembrance Day, a poppy on his chest. “Your dad gave you this?”

“Yes. I was seventeen.” Mycroft took the picture back. “It was the first time I’d seen what you looked like, and… I was happy. I was betrothed to a soldier. A handsome one, at that. I decided to try and keep up with you, make sure you would be safe out in the Middle East. I got a job in the government, and kept half an eye on what you were doing. You did a lot of brave things. I was so proud of hearing you’d won medals, and been promoted. I wanted to tell everyone you were my alpha, but you weren’t yet, so I just… kept it to myself. But I knew.”

John stared, horror dripping through his veins. Mycroft had watched him for years, followed his progress, worried about him, been proud of him… Was he in love with him? It almost sounded like it, and the thought made John want to scream. He liked Mycroft well enough as a person – a possible friend, even – but this was an emotional bombshell. John was going to bond with someone who loved him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to call the freckles on his nose ‘cute’. The most he could say was that Mycroft was interesting and easy to talk to, but so were blokes from the regiment, and John didn’t want to fuck any of them. Christ alive, John was a living, breathing embodiment of a disappointment to the entire world.

“Are you upset?” Mycroft asked, looking worried.

“No,” John lied. “Not at all. It’s a bit… extreme, but I suppose if I’d know about you, I’d’ve at least looked you up online.”

“Oh, I don’t really do social media,” Mycroft shrugged. “Too much personal information floating about online doesn’t sound particularly appealing. Sherlock’ll sign up for anything, he’s such an idiot.”

John made a mental note to google the younger Holmes as soon as he got home, then immediately resented his own brain. “A bit cavalier, is he?”

“He has a website, which I don’t think anyone ever visits. Fancies himself as various things. I have no idea what he’s going to do with himself. Nine failed arrangements, no one is going to have him, now.”

 _I would have him every which way before sundown_. “Are your parents really worried?”

“They pretend not to be, but they are. They just worry he’ll end up in a heat-bonding, and then they’ll be stuck with whomsoever gets their teeth into him first.” Mycroft stirred his tea crossly. “I suppose that’s what will happen. He’s terribly careless.”

“He’s…” John blanched at the idea that Sherlock had had narrow escapes, already.

Mycroft sniffed primly. “We have a room especially for use during heats – soundproofing, and so on, you know – but he’s only used it a handful of times. He actually went out, a few months ago. Came back black and blue. Thankfully not bitten, though I gathered it was a close shave from how bloody his knuckles and shoulders were.”

John’s blood was up, and he had to pretend to drop his spoon to cover it. Sherlock fucked by alphas, any alpha. Jesus, he’d been taken already, and not by John. John wanted to charge out of the hotel, up to the university, drag Sherlock out of his lecture and have him in an alleyway, somewhere. How dare other alphas have touched him? How _dare_ they? And bloody knuckles suggested he’d had a hand clamped over his scent gland, trying to protect it from a bite as some knotting alpha sank their teeth into his fingers. It must have hurt like hell.

“Sounds dreadful,” John croaked out as he came up from under the table.

“It’s not a Holmes Trait,” Mycroft said gently. “I’m not… “ he looked into John’s eyes, “I’ve waited. For you. I promise.”

John wanted to throw the cake stand across the room. He didn’t care Mycroft was a virgin. He didn’t care he’d waited. He was drunk on the idea of Sherlock having had a knot inside him that wasn’t his. He must have looked utterly dreadful, because Mycroft pushed his tea to one side.

“I mean it, John, I can even get a doctor to tell you – ”

“I do believe you,” John said. “Sorry, it’s just…”

“Sherlock?”

John nodded.

“I promise he’s the oddity,” Mycroft smiled. “Our pups won’t take after him.”

_Oh, god._

The beta security guard cleared his throat.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That’s time up, I think that means.”

“Oh…” John glanced back at the bouquet of fruit, still pristine and looking delicious. “I.. hope you like your gift of nourishment, Mister Holmes.” It was easier to be formal. So much easier to pretend this was a business meeting, or something, rather than looking at the man he would, one day, mount and breed.

“I love it,” Mycroft said, with just a hint of emphasis on the word _love_. “It’s so original, Mummy will love your imagination. And so do I.”

John stood, letting the security guard pull out Mycroft’s chair for him.

It was time for the question. Again.

John didn’t need to kneel, this time, but he did snatch Mycroft’s hand and hold it. “I would have you be mine?”

Mycroft looked at the First Gift, as if weighing up his options. “…no.” He took his hand away.

John sighed, letting Mycroft gather his coat, and the security guard pick up the re-boxed bouquet. There was nothing to say, now. He would see Mycroft again when his parents decided it was time, and until then, he would have to plan the second gift. He’d have to stay out of Mycroft’s way.

He’d have plenty of time to try and get over his little brother, too.

John put his head in his hands.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made for John and Mycroft's next meeting, and next gift, but Sherlock gets in the way.

September waned into October.

John started work at the GP Practice, taking on what seemed like nothing but alpha patients who needed help with their privates. John saw more knotted cocks than he’d seen in his life, and it was enough to put him off porn for life. It also kept his mind firmly off his betrothal, having to go home, alone, to his small flat, and watch trash TV and try to blank out his day-job. On his days off, John was still attending physiotherapy, and, to his disgust, psychotherapy. He didn’t like his psychotherapist – the beta woman thought he had PTSD, but John just thought his sleeplessness and stress was caused by his upcoming bonding, money worries and seeing no end of alpha cocks on a daily basis. Nothing a few beta-blockers and massages couldn’t cure.

Maybe.

John was stirring a plate of reheated pasta when his phone rang. He set his dinner down, and swiped the screen.

“Hello?”

“John?” Mycroft’s voice came through the receiver, weirdly echoing, as if he was in a cave.

John sat up, stupidly looking at the window of his eighth-floor flat, as if he expected Mycroft to be on the balcony. “Mycroft. What’s… hey. You ok? Are… you allowed to ring me?”

“I had a thorough check through the written rules of courtship, and can’t find anything prohibiting calls, though I suspect the handbook was written before telephones were invented.”

“Oh, right,” John stood, caught off-guard. “So… how are you?”

Mycroft sounded delighted to be asked. “I’m really well, thank you. I’ve had to go to the gynaecologist, but…”

John pinched between his eyes. “Everything ok?”

“Oh, yes. Mummy wants me to go following every heat, now. Just to make sure…”

John held the phone away from his face and silently screamed before putting it back. “Uh huh.”

“But I’m actually calling to apologise,” Mycroft went on.

“Oh?”

“Yes, Steven’s invited my mother, and Sherlock and I for afternoon tea tomorrow,” Mycroft sighed. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to make it.”

“Oh no,” John said genuinely. His mother was naturally shy, and it took a lot for him to go out to meet people. The little gathering of omegas would have been something he’d’ve been proud of organising. “He’ll be disappointed.”

“I gather. We wondered if we could reschedule for next week, same day, same time?”

“I’ll have a word with him. Are you busy all of a sudden?”

“Sherlock’s going into heat,” Mycroft said, as if it was the most boring thing in the world.

John almost dropped the phone. The images that flashed into his brain were not suitable for public consumption.

“He’s being a moody child – Father has forbidden him to leave the house, so we’re all under lockdown because of his behaviour,” Mycroft sighed.

Moody Sherlock, sulking on the sofa, curled in on himself because of heat cramps, slick gathering in his body before is escaped, soaking his tight, skinny jeans through. He’d have to peel them off, down his legs, slick running down his skin as his hole softened and opened, ready for penetration. God, John was suddenly achingly hard. If Sherlock smelled as good as he did on a regular day, John would never control himself anywhere near him in a heat. And Sherlock would… welcome him? That part of the flash of daydream was a little blurry.

He realised he’d been silent for several seconds, and choked down the phone: “What about your Father?”

“Sleeping in his office, in the grounds,” Mycroft replied. “So, I’m sorry. Will you apologise to Steven?”

“I will,” John undid his jeans button, pushing his trousers down over his erection, biting his lip at the sight of himself. After the sights at the clinic, he’d thought he was broken. “Yep.”

“Are you ok, John? You sound a bit…”

“I’m just going upstairs,” John lied, sitting on the sofa. “I’m seriously out of shape.”

“I see. Mummy was thinking of scheduling our next meeting, by the way. A fireworks party for Guy Fawkes Night, she was thinking.”

“With everyone?”

“Yes, she’d give us relative privacy for a while, but obviously both families would be there. You’re welcome to bring your sister, of course.”

“Would all the Holmes’ be there?” John closed his eyes as he imagined Sherlock’s usually sarcastic face illuminated by fireworks, soot from a bonfire streaking his pale skin, the lingering scent of heat coming from his pores… By John’s mental guesswork the younger Holmes might even be close to that month’s heat by then. God, imagine. The sweet, cloying scent of pre-heat hitting the back of his throat. Sometimes the presence of an alpha was enough to send an omega teetering on the edge into full-blown heat. Imagine that. Sherlock looking at John as he peeled his clothes off… John wrapped his free hand around his cock.

“Oh, yes. It’s usually a large gathering. Sherlock hates it.”

“Why?” John moved his hand once, swallowing to hide the sound he wanted to make.

“He doesn’t like crowds, or our father putting on a show. Last time he faked a heat to get out of it, but Mummy caught him.”

“How would you fake a heat?” John kept his hand still a moment.

“Oh, raised temperature, moodiness, that sort of thing, as if heat was coming on. Of course, it came to nothing. Mummy was furious.”

John laughed, though he understood Mycroft didn’t think it was funny. The idea of an omega tricking his alpha father was more than a little amusing. “I’m sorry, Mycroft, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“So, on Bonfire Night-”

“Who are you talking to, Mycroft?” a distant voice was heard.

“Go away.”

“No, who is it?”

“It’s no one.”

“You’re calling John… from the pantry?”

John shook his head. That explained the echoing sound of Mycroft’s voice.

“Fuck off, Sherlock.”

“Give it me, let me tell him you’re hiding in a cupboard to ring him, you’re so pathetic – ”

“Sherlock, get _off_ – ”

There was the sound of a struggle. Then the phone went dead.

John flung it down on the sofa, too confused to even finish his wank. Mycroft was calling him from the pantry, and Sherlock was in heat and being an annoying younger brother, but that didn’t stop John wanting to reach through the phone and have him.

He was never going to survive until November the fifth.

 

*

 

As it happened, he didn’t.

John was signing out of work, just finishing a fourteen-hour shift at the practice. It was Halloween. A few kids in home-made costumes were walking with their parents to go trick-or-treating, and John gave a half-smile to the parents as he passed them. That might be him, soon.

His back tensed at the thought. He had five days to get the second gift for Mycroft. This time, clothing. He was pretty much stumped. Most alphas bought their male omegas a new suit, but Mycroft was rich, and probably had all his suits tailored. He wouldn’t appreciate something off the peg. So John would have to think outside the box, and go for creativity over tradition. Again.

He was walking through the backstreets when he heard the sound of breaking glass. He stopped, army reflexes kicking in. There was the sound of scraping, pushing, bodies on walls. A shout from a connecting thump.

Avoid. Walk away.

Sometimes John would have done well to listen to himself. He jogged down the street, glancing down alleys, until he saw the fight.

Three betas, and two omegas, in a brawl that had all of them with their heads down, arms punching and legs kicking in the sort of fight where the aim was to simply cause the opponent as much pain as possible, rather than beat them into giving something up.

“Hey!” John shouted, shaking out his coat to send a wave of alpha pheromones at the fight.

The omegas immediately looked up, darting to the side to avoid the beta’s fists.

John’s instinct was to protect them, but the betas were meant to be their allies, and this all felt so very wrong. Betas would always side with omegas in conflict, recognising their relative weakness. He marched down the alleyway. “What the fuck is going on here?”

One of the betas, his hood up over his head, glanced at the others. “Nuffink.”

“Doesn’t look like ‘nuffink’,” John snarled. “What’ve you got against these omegas?”

“None of your business, old man.” One of the betas drew a knife – a tiny, stub of a blunt thing.

John raised his eyebrows. “Really? If you weren’t using it in your fight, you expect me to believe you’ll use it on me?” He stepped to the side, as if showing the betas out of a posh hotel. “Clear off, would you?”

“Or what?”

John was not tall, but he was an alpha with his blood up, he was strong, and his body was screaming at him to protect the two omegas standing at the end of the alleyway. “Come on, then.”

It was one of the dirtiest, shortest fights of John’s life. The three betas left with a few cracked ribs each, one with a bleeding face after John hit him on the cheekbone.

John watched them scatter, then held his hands up to the omegas. “It’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you,” he layered his voice with reassuring pheromones, with trust. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m not,” one northern voice said. “But he is.”

“I’m a doctor,” John fished out his ID and threw it to them. “I can take a look at him, or get him to hospital.”

The omega looked it over, and showed it to the omega on the ground. “Holmes, look, he’s genuine.”

Holmes?

Oh, shit.

“John Watson, what the fuck are you doing here?” Sherlock looked up, pushing his hood back.

“I might ask the same of you,” John sighed.

Sherlock looked at his friend. “It’s ok, I know him. You can go.”

“You sure?”

“He’s engaged to my brother, it’s fine.”

 _Thanks for that reminder_ , John thought bitterly.

The northerner hesitated, then walked past John, handing him his ID back. “He’s ‘ad smack, jus’ so you know.”

“Traitor,” Sherlock spat, overhearing.

“Thanks,” John said. He walked over to Sherlock. “Are you hurt?”

“I think I’ve broken my fingers,” Sherlock held his hand up. Two of the digits were pointing the wrong way. “Ouch.”

“Surprised you can even feel anything after what you’ve taken,” John snorted, gently taking Sherlock’s wrist.

“It wasn’t a lot. And I just smoked it.”

“Oh, well then, that’s fine.” John manipulated Sherlock’s wrist and hand. “I think you’ve been lucky not to break your hand. Do you want to go to hospital? Do your mum and dad know you’re out?”

“They think I’m at a chemistry camp.”

“Nice.” John looked up the alleyway. “We can’t stay here, Sherlock, come on, let’s get you-”

“Don’t take me to A&E,” Sherlock said, accepting John’s arm to help him stand. “I don’t want… If Siger finds out…”

“Ok…” John tried to think. “The surgery is closed, er…”

In the light of the streetlamp, Sherlock’s pupils looked dilated, and he was mucky and mildly unwashed, but… beautiful. John inhaled deeply, realising that he hadn’t even thought about Sherlock being attractive until that moment. He’d been more concerned with taking care of him.

“Yours,” Sherlock said breathily, trying to keep his balance. He leaned on John, who linked arms with him to steady him. Just to steady him.

 _Oh, that you were mine. I would have you be mine_.

“I’ll patch you up,” John agreed. “You can sleep… I’ll make up the sofa.”

“Ok,” Sherlock’s eyes were dropping now. The adrenaline of the fight was leaving him, the heroin in his body making him slow.

John started walking him, just to keep him awake. “Sherlock, you’re a real idiot, you know?”

“Mycroft tells me all the time.”

“Why do you do this?”

“Why not? Everything’s boring. It seemed like something to do.”

“So that was your first time?”

“No, third. It’s nice, you should try it.”

“No thanks,” John snorted. “I prefer to have my mental faculties un-tampered with.”

“I like to shut mine up, every so often.” Sherlock leaned on the wall as John hit the button for the lift. “You ever get that? Your brain just banging on and on about anything and everything?”

“Can’t say as I do,” John hauled Sherlock in. “You’re much cleverer than me.”

“I’m cleverer than everyone. Especially Mycroft. Why are you even bonding with him?” Sherlock leaned on John, his forehead on John’s shoulder. Even grubby and messy, his hair smelled incredible. John wanted to stroke it.

“It’s an arrangement, you know that.” John helped Sherlock out of the lift, dragging him to his door.

“Yeah, but you could have had anyone, and you just _waited_  for him like some…” Sherlock seemed to run out of words.

“I didn’t know Mycroft existed until the summer,” John unlocked the door. He was relieved he’d tidied up, but the flat was so tiny he felt embarrassed. “Don’t sit on the sofa, you’re covered in god knows what.” He went to get his medical kit.

Sherlock stood in the kitchenette, looking about. “Is this it?”

“Yeah. You can use the shower when I’ve set your fingers. Come and wash your hands, best you can.”

Sherlock started to do so, his wonderful scent returning even as he cleaned his hands and arms.

John watched him, resisting the urge to bite his lips, to wash Sherlock’s arms himself, to feel that smooth white skin under his hands…

“You really didn’t know he was waiting for you?” Sherlock asked.

“Really. He apparently knew I existed, though.” John held a hand-towel up. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, and John came forward patting Sherlock’s skin dry.

“He did. He used to talk about you all the time. I assumed you knew about him, if not actually seen him…” Sherlock was frowning.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” John helped Sherlock lean his forearms on the countertop.

“It doesn’t disappoint me.”

John paused, holding a spool of gauze. He would love to apply that sentence to the note of longing ringing through his chest, but Sherlock was… Sherlock. He was in John’s flat, and John was going to look after his injury, but still… He was so far out of reach it was laughable.

He tried not to think as he set Sherlock’s broken fingers (Sherlock actually cried when John straightened his pinky out, each tear smelling so good John wanted to lick it off his cheek),  then took a towel and a set of spare pyjamas out of the airing cupboard.

“Go and wash,” he nodded at the bathroom. “You can wear these, I don’t care if you keep them or not. I’m sorry they smell of me, but I can’t really help that.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t mind that. Thank you.” He actually smiled at John before going to the bathroom and kicking the door shut.

John made the sofabed up, pulling the mattress out and putting spare sheets on it. He heard the shower start up, and covered his face as he imagined Sherlock, gleaming naked, washing himself with John’s soap and bubbles, scrubbing his bare arse and cock, his perfect arms and neck and face… Oh, Jesus.

 _I would have you be mine_.

He was still perched on the sofabed when Sherlock came out, hair damp and pink in the face, but clean, and wearing John’s pyjamas, and –

John stood, removing himself from the omega’s temporary nest and backing into the kitchen. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Sherlock handed John the used towel, and John wanted to plunge his face into it. His hands shook. “Thank you for making me a bed. I am sorry to have put you in this position. I know… both our families wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“I guess we’ll both have to keep our traps shut, then, won’t we?” John couldn’t look him in the eye. He could feel his cock growing hard from the lingering smell coming from the used towel, and a clean Sherlock, and the thought he’d be sleeping in his flat, and oh _God_ …

“Yes.” Sherlock was still standing there, apparently rooted to the spot. “John… I don’t want you to be disappointed in me, for some reason. I don’t care if anyone else, but…”

Oh, no. “You don’t need my approval, I’m not…”

“I know you’re not,” Sherlock said softly, plucking at the top he wore. “But…”

“But?”

Sherlock stepped closer, his breathing rate increased, his eyes still slightly blown from the drugs he was coming down from. John wanted to touch that face, hold the back of Sherlock’s skull in his hand before he kissed him.

_Kiss him._

Sherlock’s eyes flicked down. John realised he was hugging the towel. He loosened his grip, letting it hang loose in his grip.

“Goodnight, then,” he heard himself say.

“John…” Sherlock came still closer, too close now, his toothpaste mouth was almost tasteable. “Thank you for coming to my aid. I… do appreciate it.” His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out.

“I’d’ve done the same for anyone,” John whispered. He looked down at Sherlock’s hand again, at those twitching fingers, those perfect digits.

“You’re brave.”

John’s chest swelled at the compliment, and he made a noise in the back of his throat that was close to a growl.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, his lips parting at the sound. “John?”

“I think bringing you back here was a mistake,” John said, making eye contact. “Sherlock… I’m sorry, I think I should – ”

“Don’t go,” Sherlock touched John’s hand, and it was like being set on fire. “This is your den, I need you near, you can understand that?”

Omegas were naturally distrustful of strange alpha places, but this seemed something more, and oh god, they were holding hands, now.

 _I would have you be mine_.

John couldn’t think straight. He brought Sherlock’s hand up to his mouth, and ran his lips over the back of it. Not a kiss. A caress. Sherlock turned his hand over, letting John inhale the scent of his palm, his wrist where blood rushed, his pulse elevated and…

It was impossible to say who moved first. One minute they stood silently in the kitchen, John’s lips on Sherlock’s wrist, the next they were against the fridge, Sherlock held there by John as they kissed as thought they were starving for it, hands everywhere, the scent of each other enough to drown in.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos, commented and bookmarked this fic. You're all divine, and I love you to the moon and back again. Peace and Love. xx

Sherlock hooked his legs over John’s hips, and pulled the older man tight and close, as if John wasn’t fighting to get skin to skin with him, anyway.

“Fucking hell,” John held Sherlock’s thighs, gripping the firm muscle, grinding against his hips, feeling his growing erection through the cotton pyjama bottoms. John’s cock was hard already, just the smell of Sherlock was enough to make him erect, and how he was under his hands, the scent of him flooding his nose. “Sherlock…”

“John, kiss me,” Sherlock breathed, his hands on John’s skull, his neck, his shoulders. “Kiss me and don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.”

John groaned, slamming Sherlock harder against the fridge, his nose buried in the curve of his neck, drinking in lungful after lungful of that delicious scent, feeling it hit the back of his brain, cloy in his throat, erasing everything on earth except _Sherlock_. “I want you, oh god, I have to have you…”

“Do it,” Sherlock went pliant, barely holding himself up. “You can do it – ”

John supported the teenager in his arm, carrying him around to the sofa-bed, dropping him down unceremoniously before climbing on top of him. Sherlock welcomed John with open arms and legs, his pale skin blushed with pink, lips parted, eyes shining. He hooked his legs over John’s hips, opening his pelvis, the scent of his arousal increasing by the second. John pushed Sherlock’s t-shirt up, exposing the pale skin beneath.

“You’re so beautiful,” John knew Sherlock would have heard it before, but he didn’t care. He had to tell him, because Sherlock was going to be _his_. John was going to sink his teeth into his delicious-smelling throat, wait for Sherlock’s heat to be kick-started, and then mate and bond with him for life. No one was going to come between them. He had the omega in his den, in his nest, and he was going to have him. It was his right.

“John…” Sherlock arched his back as John licked up his sternum, dragging his teeth back down to Sherlock’s tight nipples, half-biting each one before dropping his hand down and finally gripping hold of that omega-hardness. Sherlock moaned, bucking his hips into John’s fist once, twice. “Yes. Yes, John.”

The moaned consent was enough to make John blind. He shoved Sherlock’s trousers down roughly, taking hold of the omega’s cock and working him steadily, hard, dragging a thumb up over his glans, feeling the smoothness of pre-come below his foreskin. John reached with his free hand past Sherlock’s crotch, pushing his legs further apart, touching at the tight skin of his entrance. There was a tiny, lubricating, amount of slick coming from the omega as he was not yet in heat, but John would be able to penetrate him. It was going to happen.

“Fuck, get on your front,” John shoved Sherlock away from him as he stood and started to strip off. “Bend over, head down.”

Sherlock complied immediately, whether through an omega’s inert desire to please or just because he wanted John to fuck him, John neither knew nor cared. The omega’s pert arse was in the air, entrance already opening and contracting minutely, desperate for an alpha cock to slide inside it, stretch it open, be fucked and gaping for a knot – one that wouldn’t come quite yet, but oh, when it did, John was going to knot Sherlock so hard he’d be pregnant a breath later.

John moaned in want, running a hand from Sherlock’s back to the curve of his arse, swirling a finger around the omega’s increasingly wet hole as he kicked off his jeans, pulled his jumper over his head with one arm. He stroked over Sherlock’s firm skin, kneading the glute muscle in his hands, not quite hard enough to –

Bruise.

John blinked, focussing on the young man in front of him. Three oval bruises, almost faded, were on the omega’s right hip. He was hurt. Someone had hurt him – no, touched him. Held him tight as they fucked him.

John’s first reaction was to growl in rage that Sherlock had been touched by anyone but him, snarling at the empty room so fiercely that Sherlock whined to try and placate his alpha. But the instinct to protect was fiercer than the instinct to breed, and John had only an hour ago rescued Sherlock from-

Oh, god.

Reality slammed back into John’s brain, and he stepped back, holding his hands up. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock.”

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock snapped looking over his shoulder. “John –”

“I can’t do this,” John covered his nose and mouth for a second, trying to breathe in his own scent. His hands smelled of Sherlock’s skin, of his slick where John had touched the omega’s entrance. He dropped his hands, searching an escape from the smell of sex, the smell of _wanting_. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Sherlock turned over, sitting on the edge of the sofa-bed, his cock erect, skin red where John had kissed and bitten it. He looked livid. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” John pulled his trousers up. “You didn’t have to –”

“John, I want you to fuck me, what the hell is the matter with you?”

“I can’t have sex with you when you’re high!” John snapped.

Sherlock sat back, shocked. “What… why?”

“You’re under the influence,” John said slowly, his legs trembling with need to get back on the bed and drive his aching cock into Sherlock’s body. Sherlock wasn’t being forced, he’d admitted that, but that was now, with his dilated pupils and slow heartrate, the heroin filtering through his body, the come-down still hours away. John wasn’t forcing him, but he wasn’t taking him honestly, either.

“So? I want you,” Sherlock insisted.

“You might not… want me… when you’re sober,” John said.

Sherlock stared, then picked up the pyjama bottoms John had given him to wear. “Right. You know, you can just tell me the truth. Mycroft wouldn’t hear it from me-”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” John forced from between his teeth. “Sherlock, I don’t want you waking up tomorrow, regretting… anything.”

Sherlock yanked his soft trousers up. “You think that’s a new feeling? I regret a lot of shit. I regretted my first time because the fucker tried to bond with me,” he flexed scarred fingers. “I regret fucking betas because they just can’t get it in far enough, and I regret even coming back here, right now. It’s just sex, John. It doesn’t matter if I’m high or not.”

“It matters to me,” John said softly.

“Why?”

“Because I… I’m not that sort of alpha,” John said. “I want you, fuck, I want you so much, but I don’t want you to regret… me. You might regret walking through this door, but I’m not sorry I’ve brought you back here, ever if we…”

Sherlock stared. “That doesn’t make sense, John. You’re not engaged to me. We can’t be anything serious. Why do you care what I think? Why do you _care_?”

John shook his head, marched into the bathroom and started the shower. He kept the door locked, and stared at himself in the mirror.

He didn’t want Sherlock to regret him, because as long as there was the slightest chance they might one day… A whisper of a possibility… John wouldn’t be that alpha. He wouldn’t be that man.

He stepped under the shower and wanked himself dry, thinking about the touch of Sherlock’s skin under his hands, the scent of his throat, the taste of his mouth.

When he came out, Sherlock was beneath a pile of blankets on the sofa-bed, nesting. He’d be feeling rejected, and frightened, alone in the strange alpha den, not to mention he was high and hurt from his fight.

“Sherlock?” John asked softly.

A tousled head emerged from the nest. “Don’t come onto the bed.”

“I won’t, it’s your nest,” John said. “Do you want anything?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “No. Thank you.”

He didn’t sound angry. Or even upset.

John felt a wash of relief. He’d done the right thing.

“Alright, then… I’m going to bed-”

“I won’t say anything,” Sherlock interrupted. “To Mycroft. You don’t have to worry.”

John realised he’d hardly given his betrothed a second thought. “Ok…”

“You really didn’t choose him, did you?”

“No,” John shook his head. “I didn’t choose him. If I had the choice…”

“You do,” Sherlock said bluntly. “You could break it off.”

“And then what?”

Sherlock looked him in the eye. “You could have what you wanted.”

“Your parents would never – ”

“They couldn’t reverse a bond once it’s made,” Sherlock pointed out.

“No, you are far too young for that,” John held a hand up. “You’re – ”

“You’re the one who wanted to breed me only half an hour ago,” Sherlock flashed a smirk. “If I were you, Doctor Watson, I’d check the accuracy of that moral compass you think you’re using.” And without another word, he disappeared into his nest.

 

*

 

John woke the next morning with his head full of Sherlock's scent. It had permeated the flat, and seemed to be clinging to the wallpaper. He turned off his alarm, and staggered into the lounge, where the sofa-bed was empty, the blankets folded neatly in a pile.

There was a note on top of the pile.

John rubbed a hand over his eyes before he picked it up to read.

 

 

  1. **~~Food~~** ~~~~
  2. **~~Clothes~~** ~~~~
  3. **~~A place to sleep~~** ~~~~
  4. **Comfort**
  5. **Love**
  6. **Wealth**



**_Three down, three to go._ **

**_Over to you, John._ **

****

**_SH_**

John put a hand to his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was a little short, it didn't feel right to run into the next scene, though.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Bonfire Night party...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't begin to tell you how much it means to get such great feedback from you all! It's a pleasure to write this story.

The Catherine wheel spun like crazy, sparks flying in all direction, colours blending into a whirling rainbow. Mycroft shielded his eyes with one hand, holding John’s coat with the other. The new leather gloves John had given him fit perfectly, and he’d not taken them off all evening.

“That’s it for now, folks,” the display organiser said. “The big display is at ten, don’t forget!”

There was applause for the display team’s effort so far, and the guests who had come out to see the wheels went back inside. It was a bitter night for early November, and the guests’ breath made a fine clouded mist as they walked.

“Are you hungry?” Mycroft had let go of John and they trudged alongside one another, tailed by Mycroft’s chaperone.

“Thirsty,” John said. “I really fancy some of that spiced cider. Shall we?”

“I’m not allowed to drink, but I can get a warm juice,” Mycroft sighed. John gave him sympathetic eyes – omegas were often expected to remain teetotal during courtship, to avoid any hints that they had been coerced into a relationship.

And speaking of coercion…

John’s eyes met Sherlock’s as soon as they got back into the ballroom. Sherlock was talking to a female alpha, touching her arm and shoulder as he spoke, tipping his head to one side as a display of submission, and invitation. He caught John’s eye, and leaned closer to the woman, who gave him an obvious sniff.

Mycroft gave a ‘hmph!’ beside John. “At it again, I see.”

“Sherlock?”

“Mm. Father will go spare if he sleeps with anyone.”

John kept his face impassive, and took two glasses of alcohol-free juice from a waiter. “Here, I’ll morally support you in your abstinence.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft took a glass. “You know, John… You really are a kind alpha. I’m glad.”

John forced a smile back before glancing at Sherlock. The woman had moved off, and Sherlock was now standing with his arms folded – a stand-offish gesture – as his father spoke to him.

“Knew it wouldn’t take long,” Mycroft followed John’s eyes. “He’s such an idiot, why can’t he just behave?”

“Maybe he wants a bit more freedom,” John suggested. “From your father. I mean.”

“Then he ought to have bonded with someone, then he’d be out of the house.”

“At the cost of his autonomy, though,” John pointed out. “And he’s not nineteen until January. That’s pretty young.”

“I suppose.” Mycroft sipped his drink. “His first engagement was broken off only a month after he presented, you know.”

John almost choked. “So… that means…”

“Mm. Father had a pending engagement for him, which would be made proper if and when Sherlock presented as an omega.”

John lowered his glass. “How old..?”

“He was thirteen.”

“And the alpha agreed to the pending engagement?”

“Oh yes, he was quite keen to secure it,” Mycroft looked disgusted. “The whole things was incredibly hush-hush, of course, but as soon as Sherlock had his first heat, the alpha came over to meet him. It ended a month later. Sherlock begged Mummy to end it, and something must have convinced her to do so.”

John swallowed. “He was always chaperoned?”

“Oh, yes.” Mycroft nodded. “But obviously, security doesn’t overhear everything, even if they watch interactions. The alpha must have said something, and I believe Sherlock made the right decision. Sadly, since then, another eight engagements have come and gone. Some of them were formal, of course, looking to bond for political reasons, but several seemed… to like him.”

“Did you have any engagements before me?” John asked curiously.

Mycroft smiled. “No, I was the fat older brother buried in books. No one looked at me twice. Sherlock’s… the pretty one.” He looked genuinely sad, for a moment, and John felt his chest twang.

**_Food. Clothes. A Place to Sleep._ **

**_Over to you, John._ **

John had cursed himself a thousand times for not realising what was going on. The candied apple, the loan of pyjamas, and allowing Sherlock to stay the night. All in the right order, all given with a genuine want to help. Nourishment, clothing, shelter.

John had got further in his accidental courtship of Sherlock than he had of his betrothed.

It put John in a horrible position. Though he hadn’t considered it a courtship, Sherlock apparently had, and it was his consent that was the most important. If Sherlock accepted the gifts as courtship gifts, that was what they were. Courting was complex and spiritual, and John had two lines running at once.

If Mycroft found out, it would kill him.

All his presented life, Mycroft had been waiting for John – had watched him grow up, had worried about him and waited for him, longing for him to come home. He didn’t care that John walked with a stick sometimes (his physiotherapy was going well), or that he was poor – he wanted John, and that was more than the alpha had ever expected from an arranged marriage.

But Sherlock…

But Sherlock.

John drained his glass. “Looks like your father’s cleared off, anyway.” He nodded at the back of Sherlock’s head. The teenager was standing stiffly again, arms around himself, shoulders up as if he was afraid of being seen. John frowned – Sherlock’s head was up, but defiantly, not welcoming, and he was glancing at the exit every so often.

“Oh my god,” Mycroft put a hand to his mouth. “John – that’s him.”

“Who?”

“The alpha Sherlock was engaged to. The one he asked Mummy to break off.”

John almost broke his neck looking around. The alpha was the same height as Sherlock, but much, much older – at least fifty going by his short grey hair and beard – and he was smiling pleasantly, but the smile didn’t reach his bespectacled eyes.

“I don’t like the look of that,” John said softly.

“Me either,” Mycroft said. He looked behind him. “Where’s Father…”

John watched the alpha reach out and push a curl away from Sherlock’s face.

Fire ignited under John’s skin, and he had to stop himself barrelling across the room straight into the alpha and knocking him onto his back with a punch. John shook slightly, his breathing increasing to match his heart rate, pure rage narrowing his vision, adrenalin-laced blood flooding his veins, preparing him for a fight for dominance because some alpha was touching _his_ omega, and that was sickeningly wrong.

“Disgusting,” Mycroft winced.

“Yeah,” John handed him his empty glass. “Look, don’t take this the wrong… I have to tell him to fuck off, ok, Sherlock’s obviously not – ”

“No, please do,” Mycroft nodded. “He’s still my little brother, and Magnussen won’t listen to an omega.”

_Magnussen?_

John pushed through the crowds of people eating canapes and drinking champagne before he got to Sherlock, putting his arm around him from behind.

Sherlock flinched, turned to look, then relaxed completely into the touch, leaning against John in gratitude and relief. “Charles,” he said quickly, “this is John Watson.”

“Charmed,” the older man looked at John as if he’d just crawled out of some slimy hole. “Your new betrothed, Sherlock? What’s this? Number ten?”

“I’m sure you keep track of exactly which number I’m on,” Sherlock said softly, a hint of menace in his voice that John would never have expected from an omega.

“Of course. This is your brother’s betrothed. The cripple.”

John saw red, starting to step forward before Sherlock pinched his side hard. A warning.

“I prefer ‘doctor’,” John forced out, instead.

“I’m sure you do.” The alpha’s eyes went to where John had his arm around Sherlock. “But pray, tell me, why are you manhandling another omega if you have your own?”

“He’ll be my little brother, too, soon,” John shrugged. “Are you opposed to kin being close?”

The alpha narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t say yes without seeing like he was accusing them of something, and kinship connections were very important. “Clearly not.”

“Excellent. Would you excuse Sherlock, please? My betrothed wants us to have a moment,” John nodded at him, and steered Sherlock away, without waiting for a response. “Are you alright?” he asked as soon as they were out of earshot, in the corridor just outside the ballroom. There was no one about, and the place was dark, the sounds of the kitchen in the distance muffled by the voices in the party.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. In fact, he was shaking all over, his legs starting to give way. “I think I’m going to…”

“Ok, where can – ”

“Door on the left,” Sherlock pointed, and John led them through into an empty office room, where Sherlock folded up onto the carpet, arms over his head as a panic attack took hold of him. He twitched and jerked slightly, his nails digging into his palm rhythmically as he stimmed.

John crossed his legs down next to him, a hand on the teenager’s back, letting the dry sobs and shakes slowly start to dissipate. “I’m here, it’s ok. It’s ok, Sherlock.”

“He _touched_ me,” Sherlock said into the rug.

“I know, but it was just your hair, you can wash it off – ”

“I don’t mean just then,” Sherlock said.

John went very still. “You mean…”

Sherlock sat up, tucking his knees under his chin. “Don’t start calling for him to be strung up. It wasn’t really… Nothing he’d go to prison for. He didn’t… have me. Thank Christ. But he touched my wrist…” Sherlock demonstrated, dragging his thumb over his tendons. “...he pressed hard, and bruised me, and I told him to stop, he was going to hurt me.”

John didn’t interrupt.

Sherlock took a shuddering breath. “He said I’d know what pain was once he knotted me. He said he was going to have me in my next heat and there’d be nothing anyone could do once we were bonded, even if I was thirteen. He wasn’t interested in courting me, in gaining my trust over years until I was sixteen, like Mummy wanted. He just wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh my god.”

“Quite. He made me stay the whole first meeting, and when he asked for my hand, he rubbed his face on my skin,” Sherlock brushed at the back of his hand. “I said no, and tried to take my hand away, but he… kissed it. And… tasted it.” His eyes were shining again, now. “Mummy doesn’t know, but she trusted me enough to break it off. Siger was furious – Magnussen is one of his prime business partners, and he wanted the connection. He wouldn’t have cared if… I don’t think he would have cared. If I’d been… But it was over. He’s hated me even since. And Magnussen wouldn’t look twice at Mycroft. He’s always been there, since we were little. He asked Siger and Mummy for me, when I was eight. Wanted to wait to see if I’d present omega. I hated him, even then. He was always… hands on.”

“Sherlock…”

“I thought when I presented omega, that things would change,” Sherlock sighed, a tear escaping down his cheek. “In my first heat, I wanted someone, I wanted an alpha, and if he’d come in…” he shuddered. “It was only after that I realised what a curse heats were. I’d fuck anyone with a knot. It didn’t matter what they were like the other three weeks of the month. I realised Magnussen would make me do things. And it was like wandering around in a nightmare.” He laced his fingers together, holding himself over his shins. “I hate being an omega. I wanted so much to be a beta. I just wanted to be me.”

“You are you,” John put an arm around his shoulders. “Ok? You’ll always be you, and omega is just part of who you are. It’s… I wouldn’t change it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Sherlock gulped. “You’re an alpha, you just want to smell me and fuck me and knot me and get me pregnant –”

“Hey,” John gently cupped Sherlock’s face. “Hey, you know that’s not quite true.” He dropped a hand to Sherlock’s healed fingers. “I want you to be safe, and happy, and away from people and things that hurt you. That’s what I want.”

“And have me,” Sherlock said. “You do want that.”

“You know I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

Sherlock blushed, and glanced down at their still-touching hands. “I haven’t… since Halloween. That’s just over a week.”

“I’m proud of you,” John said honestly. “Keep it up.”

“I’ll try,” Sherlock relaxed his legs, John and his hands falling onto his thigh. “You gave Mycroft the second gift, I see?”

“Yes.”

“I’m still one ahead,” Sherlock said. “Two, now.”

“Two?!”

“You just comforted me, John, you’re doing it without even thinking about it,” Sherlock sighed. “Are you thinking about it?”

“Well – ”

“If you complete the courtship with me before Mycroft, what’re you going to do? Bond with us both? Gross.”

“No, I don’t… know. I don’t know, I…” John took Sherlock’s hand properly. “I can’t bring myself to stay away from you.”

Sherlock looked at John’s eyes, as if searching for the lie. Then leaned forward to kiss him. Their lips met softly, no secret rush despite the party going on only the other side of the wall. Sherlock climbed into John’s lap, his legs around John’s waist, arms on his shoulders and head as John held his back.

“We’ll get caught,” John went for Sherlock’s buttons.

“Then be quick.”

John reached up and locked the office door, trusting in the dark room and the frosted glass to hide them further. He went back to Sherlock’s buttons, popping them open quickly, dragging his lips over the omega’s sternum, inhaling the smell of him, which was –

“You’re nearly in heat,” John whispered.

“Yeah,” Sherlock shifted on John’s lap, against the growing hardness. “Maybe tomorrow, or the day after.”

“Christ, is this – ”

“John,” Sherlock held John’s head in his long-fingered hands. “Either you say stop now, or you come through for me, this time. I want you. I know you want me. I’m not drunk, or high, and you have given me four courtship gifts, which I have accepted – now give me your cock.”

John nodded, leaning up to chase Sherlock’s lips. They kissed more fiercely now, knowing they’d be missed, knowing they could be discovered, reprimanded, put everything and anything at risk and on the line. They fell back onto the soft carpet, undoing their own trousers, no time for romance.

Sherlock kicked off his shoes and trousers and pants in one go, and John had to stand to get his off with his bad arm and leg. Sherlock watched him the whole time, reaching down to grip his own cock and slowly begin to work at himself.

“Fucking hell, you’re beautiful,” John dropped back down to scent Sherlock’s throat, kissing down his chest with tiny flicks of his tongue to taste the young man. “You’re impossible.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock said, but he was smiling. He hooked his legs up over John’s hips, and took hold of one of John’s hands. “Pre-heat… Should be wet for you.” He took John’s hand to his entrance.

John made a noise of animalistic want as his fingers touched puckered skin that was opening and contracting already, wet with more than enough slick to ease penetration. He slipped a fingers inside the soft opening, and Sherlock gasped, his eyes going wide. The strong muscle almost sucked John’s finger inside, soaking his hand as he added another finger, hardly needing to work Sherlock open, he was so ready, so needy.

“John, please,” Sherlock raised his keens further so his thighs were almost flush with his chest. “I want you, please.”

John gave in, pulling his hand away and transferring the slick to his cock, lubricating it before pressing the thick head to Sherlock’s entrance, and pushing inside.

Sherlock covered his mouth as John penetrated him, his eyes wide, breathing catching as John’s alpha cock stretched him and filled him. To John it felt like the closest of embraces, where heat met slick softness, and two bodies moved like they were designed for it.

“Fuck,” Sherlock breathed as John bottomed out inside him. “Shit, you’re bigger than I anticipated.”

“Am I hurting you?” John asked quickly.

“No, it feels wonderful,” Sherlock said to the ceiling. “Please, move. I want you to fuck me. Fuck me like you want me.”

John withdrew and slammed back inside, their flesh slapping together. “I – do – want – you –”

“Prove it,” Sherlock dragged his nails down John still-shirted back, lifting his pelvis to get John deeper inside.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and tilted the young man’s body so his bottom half was almost upside down as he thrust inside. The scent of Sherlock’s slick, sweat and mixing alpha-omega pheromones filled the room in a sort of lustful wave, and John could barely think for the pleasure that burst across his body every time he sank his aching cock deep inside the omegas tight hole.

Neither of them would last long – it was too frantic, too desperate, too much all at once. Sherlock tensed as John’s thrusts finally started over his prostate, the pleasure spiking through him making him swear like a sailor as he could no longer hold himself up. John drove into him hard and fast, slick running down both of their bodies as Sherlock’s body compensated for this pre-heat fuck, until Sherlock came with a cry that was cut short by his own hand over his mouth, arms shaking as he was forced to let go of John, and limply let John fuck him to his own orgasm. It was only moments later that John spilled inside him, hot ejaculate spasming into Sherlock, searching for his womb, making the omega whimper and moan softly as the feel of the most welcome intrusion.

 

*

 

“What are we going to do?” John averted his eyes as Sherlock cleaned himself up using the tissues on the desk. It would do, he said, until he could get to a bathroom for a proper wash.

The omega crunched up some paper on top of the tissues in the bin to hide them. “What would you like to do? I’m assuming you don’t mean tonight.”

“I meant… in the long term.”

Sherlock zipped up his trousers and started sorting his shirt. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see you again.”

“Me, too.”

“But what capacity…” Sherlock sighed, and ruffled his hair. “John, this is a mess.” He looked up. “Do you love Mycroft?”

“No.”

“No you want to bond with him?”

“I don’t think so.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Then… don’t you think it’s a bit cruel to do this behind his back?”

“Yes,” John nodded. “I do. I’m the worst.”

“Speaking from experience, I can tell you that you are definitely not the worst,” Sherlock said. “But as annoying as he is… He is my brother, and I don’t like the idea of him… hurt.”

“That was almost sentimental,” John smiled.

“Shut up. I mean it, John,” Sherlock put his hand on the door handle. “You need to break it off with Mycroft, or that’s the last you’ll get of my arse.” He smirked, and shut the door behind him.

 

*

 

“Where’ve you been?” Mycroft asked, looking mildly harassed.

“Sherlock felt sick,” John made a ‘don’t ask’ face.

“Oh…” Mycroft glowered in Magnussen’s direction. “I suppose he’s upstairs? He hasn’t come back.”

“He is,” John lied smoothly.

“I thought you’d run off,” Mycroft said sadly.

“With…”

“Oh, no, just away,” Mycroft looked like he wasn’t sure if that was a joke, or not. “Shall we… go watch the final display outside? We could take a blanket.”

“Sounds great,” John gathered up a thick blanket from the pile as guests started making their way outside. He and Mycroft chose a bench with a decent view, and John arranged the blanket over both of their knees. Mycroft kept his hands under the blanket, and John wondered why until he felt the feather-light touch on his leg.

He looked at Mycroft in surprise.

“No one can see,” Mycroft mouthed.

John hesitated, then put his hands under the blanket, too. He could hardly end it here, anyway. Too public. Mycroft took his hand, and looked delighted about it.

“Hey,” Sherlock strolled up, hair damp and suit swapped for jeans and a t-shirt which read ‘Chemists React Faster’. “Can I join you?”

John patted the space next to him, and Sherlock stole some blanket.

“Feeling better, brother mine?” Mycroft asked.

“Much,” Sherlock took John’s other hand without missing a beat. “I’m going to have to speak to Mummy. She should really warn me about when –”

The first firework shot into the sky, and everyone went ‘Ooo!’

The conversation was cut short, and John sat for the duration of the impressive fireworks display under a knitted blanket, each of his hands held by one of the Holmes brothers.

What a perfect mess.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before the Christmas party, and John receives a visitor.

**Merry Christmas, John. SH**

**It isn’t Christmas for two more weeks? JW**

**No, but I have a present for you. SH**

**Oh?? JW**

**Break up with Mycroft and you can have it. SH**

**I don’t want it. JW**

**You do. SH**

**What is it? JW**

**[attachment: IMG 2MB] A teaser. SH**

**Good god, Sherlock. JW**

**I have to delete that. JW**

**Shame. I was hoping you’d send me one back. SH**

**You’ll get caught. JW**

**My phone has a thumbprint passcode. SH**

**They can be hacked. JW**

**You were happy enough to fuck me in the room next door to a party. SH**

**That was stupid. JW**

**You’re stupid. SH**

**Probably. JW**

**Are you going to come over? SH**

**I have to see Mycroft tomorrow. JW**

**I know, that’s why your present is only a teaser. You can have the rest after you dump him, tomorrow. SH**

**You’re impossible. JW**

**Thank you. SH**

John pressed his phone into his forehead. It was six weeks since the fireworks party. Somehow, Sherlock got his number from Mycroft’s phone, and they’d been texting every day. It felt so illicit and secret that it only took the ‘SH’ to flash up on John’s phone for his cock to respond, stirring with interest, because Sherlock was a master of words as well as beauty.

Mycroft text him, too. Sweet little enquiries about what he was up to, and did he have plans for Christmas, and Mycroft was very much looking forward to seeing him and getting his third gift and oh no, no, no, Sherlock was already two ahead.

**Courtship of Omegas, In Six Easy Gifts**

  1. **Nourishment**
  2. **Clothing**
  3. **Shelter**
  4. **Comfort**
  5. **Love**
  6. **Monetary Wealth**



 

The last point was all but moot, as it was traditionally a gold bonding ring, but the fifth point – love – was the one crawling over John’s skin. He didn’t doubt for a second that Sherlock wanted that fifth gift. If he could get it before Mycroft did, they would be dangerously close to completing a courtship.

John didn’t feel tricked – after all, he’d started it by lusting after the teenager and giving him sweets and a bed to sleep in. It would be a lie if he turned around and said now that he didn’t want him. But his alpha sense knew he had another courtship on the go, even if it was not as spontaneous, it still counted. And some nights, it felt like being ripped in two.

Courtships served several purposes. They increased an omega’s fertility, and they made the animalistic sides of the people involved begin to bond – an emotional bond, not the type forged in blood with a bite. And John was bonding with Mycroft, that was undeniable. He even had the third gift of shelter already in his closet, wrapped in Christmas paper. John couldn’t afford to buy Mycroft a house, so instead, he’d put his creativity to use again, and bought Mycroft a different kind of shelter – an umbrella.

There was no way they’d be allowed to spend a night together before their bonding day. If they ever got there.

John turned his phone over in his hands. The only way to stop his obsession with Sherlock would be, he knew, to bite Mycroft and force him to go into heat. And even then he’d have to make sure he mated and bonded with him. Then John would smell wrong, to Sherlock – as though he was part of someone else, and he would no longer be interested. And John would be in love with Mycroft, and Mycroft would have everything he’d wanted since he was a boy. The solution was painfully simple, and yet the thought of it made John’s stomach roll. He had always hated the idea of forcing an omega into heat – it was too close to what betas called ‘rape’, and the more he thought about it, the worse the idea of having no choice about, or resistance to, falling in love seemed.

He stood, going for the kettle. Tea had to help, surely.

“I don’t require sugar in my cup, thank you.”

John yelped, turning quickly, holding the kettle out like a weapon. He half-expected to see Sherlock there, sneaking into his tiny flat.

What he did not expect to see was the alpha from the fireworks party. The one who had made Sherlock so uncomfortable.

Charles Augustus Magnussen.

“What are you doing here?” John’s alpha senses went into overdrive as he dropped the kettle. There was a strange alpha in his den, and one he had previously decided was a threat. “Get out!”

“I don’t think I shall,” Magnussen sat down on John’s sofa, one leg over a knee.

John snarled, an animal sound ripping up his throat as he bared his teeth. “Get the fuck out of my den.”

“Den?” Magnussen glanced about. “Yes, I suppose it could be called that. Like somewhere a dog might live.”

John moved quickly, determined to do some sort of bodily damage to the intruder, before a familiar ‘click’ sounded from the doorway. He looked, eyes wide, blood rushing.

A heavy-set beta bodyguard was pointing a handgun straight at him. “I wouldn’t, sir.”

John growled, keeping his distance but relaxing his shoulders a touch. He had no desire to die here.

“Now that primal display is over,” Magnussen pushed his glasses up his nose, “I propose we get to business. Now, I know you fucked Sherlock at the party.”

John didn’t answer.

“There is no point denying it, you stank of semen and sweat, and Sherlock went to shower off your scent, though he didn’t do a good enough job of it for my nose.”

“And you can smell that well, can you?” John snapped.

“Of course. It is one of my many talents. I can detect an omega going into heat from half a mile away or more, and if they are close to me, I can accurately predict their cycle. The talent can be a curse, of course, when stinking betas and alphas are around, but with the right omega by my side, I would only need to concentrate on his sweet, vanilla-cake scent.”

Something icy dropped through John’s core. “Sherlock.”

“Indeed. You will know, I imagine, that he was once my betrothed?”

“He was a child.”

“No, he was a presented omega. In countries not so blinding conservative as this one, he would have been mine as soon as he gushed his first slick.”

“You wanted him before that, you sick fuck.”

“Can you blame me? Even as a boy he was beautiful. I dreaded hearing that he would present alpha, or worse – be taken by someone before I had the chance to taste his skin. His father was most agreeable to the arrangement. It is Sherlock’s mother’s fault that he was taken from me.”

“You frightened him.”

“He should have expected it,” Magnussen shrugged. “Can you deny that when you saw that eighteen-year-old boy, you wanted to bend him over that terrible furniture and fuck him blind?”

John blushed.

“Of course you did. As do I. Sherlock’s mother will not entertain another proposal from me, but if Sherlock were to submit to my bite,” Magnussen ran a tongue over his yellowing teeth, “there is nothing she, or the law, could do about it.”

“He would never.”

“Oh, I thought so, too. But it turns out, Sherlock Holmes is not so completely without leverage,” he looked right at John.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Certainly. And there is a caveat,” Magnussen stood. “I want Sherlock for my mate. I want to fuck him and impregnate him over and over until he is worn out and dies with my cock in his tight arse. That’s all. It isn’t much to ask. But you are a distraction, Mr Watson. And you must remove yourself from his attentions.”

“I can’t just –”

“When you see Mycroft Holmes tomorrow,” Magnussen spoke over him, “you will bite him, and you will spend his heat with him. I don’t care where you have to kidnap him to. I don’t care where you drag him. But you will mate with him, and you will take yourself out of Sherlock’s interest.”

“And then what? You expect Sherlock to go running to you for sympathy?”

“Far from it,” Magnussen shrugged. “Sherlock would never come to me willingly, but I cannot wait much longer for him. After you bite Mycroft, I am expecting a great deal of uproar in your general direction. I shall… acquire Sherlock, as his guards are distracted by you. You see? You can help me gain a mate as you claim one for yourself.” He adjusted his jacket buttons.

“I won’t do it,” John spat. “I won’t force Mycroft, and I won’t let you get to Sherlock.”

Magnussen leaned down, his face too close, his breath like shit. “I don’t like people touching my things, and I especially don’t like people fucking them. You will do this, Mr Watson, or I shall deem Sherlock no longer worth the trouble. And when things are not worth my trouble, I dispose of them. Permanently.”

“I don’t believe you’d kill him. You want him too much.”

“What I truly want in this life, is to get what I want. And if I can’t have that, no one else shall have it, either.” Magnussen pushed his glasses up again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I shall see you at the festive gathering, tomorrow night. Make sure not to wear anything that will need dry-cleaning. Omegas out of heat bleed like stuck pigs when they’re bitten.”

 

*

 

John counted to five hundred after Magnussen left before he vomited into the sink. He quickly cleaned up, and took out his phone, texting Sherlock.

 

**We have a problem. JW**

**Are you safe? SH**

**Yes. But you’re not. JW**

**When? SH**

**Tomorrow. JW**

**CAM? SH**

**Yes. JW**

**It’s alright. I have a plan. SH**


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threat of Magnussen hanging over them, there doesn't seem to be an easy plan to follow.

“You want to _tell Mycroft_?” John exploded. “That’s your plan?!”

“It’s better than nothing,” Sherlock shrugged, and for the first time John could see just how young and stupid the omega was.

They were hiding in the guest room, several feet apart, as the pre-Christmas party went on downstairs. John had already given Mycroft his umbrella (he had to do it in front of everyone as Violet took photographs, much to his horror), and he’d noticed Magnussen in the crowd, smiling like a dead-eyed shark surveying a corpse. John knew that that moment would have been the perfect time to bite Mycroft, if he wanted to follow Magnussen’s instructions. Sherlock was only by his omega mother, virtually helpless, and it would have been so easy… John did not bite Mycroft. And he felt Magnussen’s eyes burn into him from across the room. Sherlock had gone upstairs, and John made a bathroom excuse to follow him minutes later.

“How it that plan better than nothing?” John squawked quietly. “Your brother… At Christmas…”

“You’re going to have to tell him sooner or later,” Sherlock folded his arms. “Unless you plan on breaking it off with me.” His cocky smile fell slightly. “John?”

“I don’t want to leave you,” John said. “I don’t. But this is going to break Mycroft’s heart. I can’t do that here.”

“Then… tell him about Magnussen,” Sherlock raised his chin. “And me. He might be an ass, but

he’s my big brother, and I’m sure he doesn’t want me force-bonded.”

“Could he convince your father to help you?”

“Unlikely,” Sherlock curled his lip. “Siger would happily see me on Magnussen’s leash. But if we can convince Mycroft to cause a distraction whilst you stay with me, we might be able to end the party early, and get rid of Magnussen.”

“Get Mycroft to cause a distraction?” John raised an eyebrow. “I can hardly see him being up for that.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“No.”

“The only other option…” Sherlock stepped forward, “would be for you to bite me, first.”

John’s heart suddenly pounded, and his mouth felt wet. His cock stirred, and he had to fight off the urge to growl at the teenager. “Sherlock…”

“You’d send me into heat, and you could claim me before he does.”

John shook his head. “It could take up to thirty-six hours for a heat to start, you know that, and Magnussen could still mate with you if he got hold of you. The bite starts the process, but any alpha can finish it.”

Sherlock blushed. “But we’ve been courting, and they say that makes it come on faster…”

“It’s not a risk either of us should want to take.” John’s fingers itched to take hold of Sherlock and scent him heavily. “But I’m not saying we never will do that… Just not now, ok?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t know what to make of you, John Watson. Sometimes you seem like you want to worship the ground I walk on, and other times you treat me like I’m some prize idiot. Do you even want to be here?”

“Of course I want to be here. Well, not in this house as Mycroft’s bloody fiancé, but here with you,” John reached for the omega’s hand.

Sherlock withheld it.

“Sherlock?”

“No, I don’t-”

John dropped to his knees. He didn’t even think about it, assuming the position of an omega begging favour, his head up, begging, searching for Sherlock’s eyes. “Sherlock, look at me?”

“I can’t,” Sherlock covered his face. “Get up, please.”

“Sherlock, I need you to look at me,” the urge to stand was stifling, but John stayed where he was.

Sherlock peeped between his fingers. “Oh, John.”

“What I want, more than anything, is to be your alpha. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t think… I don’t think that’s possible, but I want to try, at least. If it weren’t for this damn Magnussen, I’d be trying to let Mycroft down gently, and giving it a few months or even a year before letting people know I was courting you. I’d try and do the honourable thing, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

Sherlock took his hands away, and reached for John.

John stood, pulling Sherlock into a tight embrace, inhaling the scent of his throat. “You’re everything I never knew I wanted. You’re awkward and clever and beautiful and so yourself it’s wonderful to even be near you. I want you, Sherlock.” John pulled back to look the omega in the eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

*

 

“He wants to _kidnap_ you?” Mycroft looked at his little brother in horror. “How can you be sure?”

“It’s a long story,” Sherlock sighed. “Now, can you put a stop to this party, or not?”

“I can,” Mycroft’s eyes flicked to John. “But Sherlock… I don’t know if this is a good idea. John isn’t your alpha, and he isn’t legally allowed to use deadly force to defend you. Father would be a safer legal bet.”

“And you think Siger wouldn’t hand me over on a platter, given the chance?” Sherlock snorted.

“Perhaps you have a point. But I don’t know, this feels… wrong.”

“It’s because I’m courting you,” John realised. “Your inner omega doesn’t want me defending another, even if it is your brother.”

Mycroft blushed. “Yes, I suspect that is the cause. Now we have completed half of the courtship…” he looked at John’s hand, as if he wished to hold it. “I suppose I shall just have to bear it for tonight. Once I… cause a problem… what will you do?”

“I’ll get Sherlock out to the cars,” John said. “We can drive out to the guest cottages and wait there.”

“He could follow you. Out in the grounds, you could be captured quietly.” Mycroft thought. “You had better make them _think_ you are going to the cars, double-back and come back into the house. If you stay in my bedroom, the scent ought to cover your own, and Father will not want anyone to linger once I… start.”

“What are you going to do?” John asked.

Mycroft shrugged. “Fake a heat. It’s the only sure-fire way to clear a house. Security will be dragging every alpha out of the place, omegas will be torn between being protective and following their mates, and betas won’t know what it going on.”

“They’ll scent you’re not in heat, won’t they?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. When I faked it, it was in a crowded room, too. There’re so many scents mixing it’s almost impossible to tell if anything is fake or not until later. It’s a good plan.”

John dragged a hand down his face. “This is crazy. But I suppose it’s the best we’ve got.”

“Everything alright, boys?” Violet floated over to the three of them. “Nice to see you all kinship bonding together.”

“Yes,” John forced a smile as the two omega brothers avoided their mother’s eyes. He reached out a hand and ran a finger down Mycroft’s throat, as if the action was subconscious. An indicator that his mate to be might be going into heat.

Violet looked Mycroft over. “Are you alright, dear?”

“A little warm,” Mycroft shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Warm?”

“Yes…” Mycroft tugged at his collar. Sherlock moved closer, as if protectively. John made to lean in, too, inhaling carefully, as if testing the air.

Violet’s eyebrows went up. “Mycroft, are you quite sure – ”

“I just don’t feel well,” he snapped – letting emotions show. “I’m not going…” he shuddered, as if slick was starting. “Oh. Mummy…”

Violet and Sherlock moved as one, grabbing John by the arms and yanking him off the sofa, away from Mycroft, who was doing a very convincing job of faking the start of a heat. “Today of all days!” Violet struggled with John, who was putting up a fight as he needed to do to convince her he could smell Mycroft. “Sherlock, help me – ”

“Madam, are you alright?” A burly security man came over, hands ready to manhandle John.

“Mycroft’s going into oestrus,” she gasped. “Tell Siger we need everyone to leave, immediately. Now!”

John broke free of her hands, and seemed to shake himself back into the room. “I’m so sorry, Mrs – ”

“Only natural, my dear, only natural,” she reassured him, one hand still raised. “You have to go, now. I am sorry you won’t get to say goodbye – ”

Behind her, Mycroft gave an audible moan of false-cramp, and John was almost ashamed to admit it was grossly sexual and realistic.

Violet looked at Sherlock in distress. “Please don’t tell me this is catching, Sherlock.”

“I feel fine!” Sherlock smoothed his jacket. “Shall I show John out?”

The guests were filing out quickly, several alphas surreptitiously sniffing the air, trying to get a whiff of what the eldest Holmes child smelled like in heat, but grumbling that the place was too mixed up and busy to know for sure.

“If you feel happy to,” Violet nodded. “Your security is trying to herd out the guests, and I need to get Mycroft to his room… John, would you look after your brother-to-be?”

“Of course,” John let Sherlock walk ahead of him to the front doors. “My car is around the side,” John said, loud enough to be heard. He was scanning the remaining crowd for Magnussen and his cronies, but couldn’t see that silver-grey hair anywhere. “Can’t see him,” he lowered his voice.

“I don’t like it.”

“Me either. Stick to Mycroft’s plan?”

“With one modification. This way,” Sherlock doubled-back at the front door, slipping down the servant’s corridor. John followed him, the stone steps well-worn from use.

“Where are we going?”

“The one place an alpha can’t get in.”

“A heat-suite?”

“Precisely.”

“Won’t Mycroft be using it?”

“If I know him, and I do, he’ll have to be dragged in by Mummy. We’ll get there first. It’s only lockable and unlockable from the inside. We can stay there until the coast is clear.”

“And when’s that?”

“When Mycroft is rumbled, I suppose. And then we’ll all be for it.”

“Oh, god.” John let Sherlock lead the way back up a spiral staircase. “This is the worst night of my life.”

“So far,” Sherlock added. “And don’t worry, this makes for a better story.”

“Yes… How I stole your little brother, who I happen to be simultaneously courting with you, and tricked your family into cancelling their Christmas party to avoid him getting force-bonded by a maniac. I can see the title now.”

“You’re so sarcastic. Mycroft is rubbing off on you.”

“It’s the only way he’s going to, at this rate.”

They exited at the top floor, and Sherlock let John into the heat suite, following him inside and slamming the reinforced door. He put a palm to the pad, and his fingerprints were taken. Six thick, steel bars rammed into locks, the sound of hydraulic bolts sliding into place filed the room.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Sherlock stepped back. “Only I can only it, now. Well, only an omega can. Mummy worried about us starving to death in here.”

“I see,” John looked about the place. Sterile. White. Drawers. A television. A bath, and shower. No windows. “This is… weird.”

“Mm,” Sherlock sat on the bed. “I don’t like it much. Too clinical. Heats are about sex, and passion. This is terrible.”

“I can see why you don’t like it.”

Sherlock stroked a hand over the sheets. “It’s never been something I’m happy with. My biology, I mean. It seemed like a sentence, especially with Magnussen pawing over me, waiting for me. And even after… I hoped the alphas Siger and Mummy chose for me after that would be kinder. But they were all old. They were businessmen, or people looking for a second omega after the first one died. They wanted me because I was young and healthy and could have lots of pups. They didn’t want me, Sherlock. They wanted what they thought was a beautiful omega.”

“Didn’t you like any of them?” John sat beside him.

Sherlock smiled ruefully. “One or two. One… he was probably the most likely candidate, but he missed two gift-giving appointments due to his work. I liked that, actually, him being dedicated to his job. But Mummy said he wasn’t respectful enough of me, and she cancelled the betrothal.”

“Was he… nice?”

“He was older than you, maybe forty,” Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t like his grey hair, it reminded me too much of… But I liked him as a person. He was a detective. He was interesting.”

“I hate him.”

Sherlock smiled. “I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen, you’re fine.”

“What was his name?”

“Gregory.”

John sighed. “You realise, you’re making me jealous. Even his name has more syllables than mine.”

“Yes, but he was grey,” Sherlock pointed out. “And divorced, too. From a beta woman.”

“Now there’s a story.”

“Mm. I said he was interesting.”

They were quiet then, listening to the hum of the house.

John cleared his throat. “Did you and him…”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “He was a traditionalist in that respect, at least. He’s probably bonded with a pile of pups, now.” He looked at John. “Why aren’t you bonded, anyway?”

“I was bonded to my work,” John said. “My family… have notions. And they expected me to be a soldier, but a doctor was something that surprised them. They knew, I guess, that I’d need a career to secure an omega, but they arranged Mycroft when I was eighteen. I enlisted that year, they must have decided not to tell me.”

“You were my age.”

“You’re nineteen in a few weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to get you a present.”

“Something expensive. Show me your Wealth.”

“Hey,” John admonished. “You’ve missed a step out.”

“No,” Sherlock said softly. “I don’t think I have.”

They looked at one another, a spark of electricity crackling in the space between them. John inched closer, and Sherlock did the same, until they were just leaning on one another.

“Mycroft’s going to be heartbroken,” John said sadly.

“He is,” Sherlock agreed. “It’s… hurting me more than I thought it would.”

“He’s your kin.”

“He is, and I do love him,” Sherlock admitted. “I never wanted his things. I felt his obsession with you was so stupid, I never dreamed you’d be like you are. I never thought you’d want to _talk_ with an omega, and just sit here, beside me, not trying to tear my clothes off.”

“I can do that, if you like,” John stroked down Sherlock’s arm, and he laughed gently.

“Perhaps later. But the moment you handed me that candied apple…” Sherlock smiled at the memory, “I saw you genuinely cared. You didn’t want me hurt, and you didn’t want me hungry, and you kept on caring for me, though you had no obligation to. John…” he took the alpha’s hand. “Thank you. For being you.”

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and held him close. “My Sherlock.”

“Your…” Sherlock looked up.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe sounds good.”

They smiled stupidly at one another.

The door swung open with a clunk – the bolts opened and gave way, and slid open easily.

“Mummy?” Sherlock stood, ready to face his mother’s anger.

A blur of grey barrelled through the door, knocking Sherlock to the floor.

John snarled, leaping to his feet.

Sherlock screamed, fighting at the man on top of him, clawing, raking his nails down his face, trying to kick.

The alpha was so much stronger.

Magnussen snapped at Sherlock’s throat, missing it by millimetres.

John launched himself at him, knocking him off and into the drawers, hand going to choke him, hurt him in any way possible.

Sherlock was coughing, trying to stagger up, only to be caught and held still, face-down on the bed, by four beta security guards. He screamed into the mattress, fighting and struggling.

Magnussen was old, but he was strong. He forced John backwards, onto the carpet, kneeing him in the stomach, cracking him across the jaw with a fist before getting up. “Hold him.”

More men grabbed John, holding him up as he fought, six of them trying to keep the enraged alpha from defending the omega on the bed.

“You see?” Magnussen drew a handkerchief from his pocket. “I hate people playing with my things. And you have crossed the line.” He wiped his face and glasses, dropping the cloth on the floor. “You see, you underestimate me, constantly. I think omegas are filthy whores, but they do have their uses. One being lock-pickers. So much security to guard omegas is accessible only by omegas. The systems depend on their natural urge to protect one another. But that can be bent. They can be trained, can’t they, James?”

John’s head was forced to look at a scrawny young man with black hair, his pointy face nervous, shoulders hunched.

“Yes, sir.”

“My little omega lock-pick,” Magnussen smiled. “Such potential. A pity his mind is as cracked as a mirror. But I digress. I have business with the real prize of tonight, abandoned by his family.”

“What have you done with Violet and Mycroft?” John shouted.

“You mean the ugly duckling and his clucking mother hen?” Magnussen mixed his metaphors. “They are safe, in the duckling’s room. We shall let them out once I have what I need.” He reached out, and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock shrieked, and thrashed as if he had been set on fire. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, but I shall,” Magnussen put one knee on the bed. “Because you are mine. Or, at least, you are about to be.”

“No! Don’t you fucking dare!” John roared.

“Make sure Mr Watson has a good view, please.”

The men hauled John up, holding him fast, his head still.

Sherlock was sobbing now, tears and snot soaking the bedclothes, shaking his head. “Please, don’t do this. Please. Please!”

“I like it when you beg,” Magnussen rolled his hips on the curve of Sherlock’s arse, his erection clearly outlined in his suit trousers. “You shall beg an awful lot of me, my little omega.”

And he sank his teeth cleanly into Sherlock’s throat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to get in touch about this fic. Whilst I appreciate that it has stirred strong feelings in some people, I would ask you to think before you hit ‘post’ on a comment.
> 
> I have had to read through people crying out for Sherlock to be raped, murdered, abused and much worse.
> 
> And so has anyone else who has chosen to read through the comments. This fic does not have warning for rape or abuse on it. How terrible would it be if your comment triggered a person who thought this fic was safe for them?
> 
> I do not want to have to police comments on this, or any, fic, but I will have no choice if I have to read much more of what a select few readers are saying. 
> 
> Thank you
> 
> LQL


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnussen has bitten Sherlock, and the clock is ticking until the omega goes into heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone who's sent messages or made comments of support for this fic, especially those who have defended it. It's been wonderful to see everyone so passionate, but I am so disappointed that it has taken such a subject to do so.
> 
> If anyone is reading this who has not read the comments, I would advise you to be mindful before doing so, particularly if you are looking to avoid mentions of rape and abuse. This fic does not have warnings on it, but the comments may do. I do not condone any calling for any character to be raped or abused in any circumstance.
> 
> HEADS UP: Mild violence within chapter.

It was as though time was standing still.

Sherlock froze, teeth embedded in his neck, blood welling to the surface. He was no longer struggling. His body was going into shock, limp and unmoving, unseeing as he stared at John’s horrified face.

John had stopped fighting, too. All he could see was the young man on the bed, straddled and held down by a monster. He hadn’t been able to stop him. He hadn’t protected the omega. He was a failure of an alpha, and now Sherlock…

Sherlock…

_SHERLOCK._

“Ah,” Magnussen released his bite, blood running down his chin, staining his beard. “Like a ripe fruit. Perhaps a little overripe. Too many bruises already.” He fingered at Sherlock’s backside.

Sherlock didn’t protest. He lay there like a boned fish, breath coming in little pants. Blind panic, his hands shaking, pinkish blood running down to his clothes.

Magnussen bent his head down and licked at the wound, his saliva encouraging it to coagulate. “There, my little omega. Relax. You need to save your energy. I don’t plan on fucking you just the once.”

“You sick fuck!” John started fighting again, almost escaping as he thrashed.

“Me? You would call me sick when you are the one plotting to steal this ripe boy and have him to yourself, despite being betrothed to his brother?” Magnussen looked at Sherlock. “But I don’t blame you, Doctor Watson. Omegas are all whores for a knot. When I heard Sherlock had broken free from his home in search of an alpha during a heat, it was all I could do to attempt to find him first. Can you imagine? He would have welcomed it. Begged for it – for relief of the pain of his heat. He would have bent over, spreading himself open to me, and I would have taken him. The fact he eluded me, and allowed some other, filthy, cock inside him…” he smacked Sherlock’s arse sharply.

Sherlock barely flinched.

“…and then you, Doctor. You had him, didn’t you?” Magnussen walked over, looming over John, his face expressionless, eyes like chips of dirty ice.

“He’s not an object to be had,” John spat.

“Maybe not to you. But…” Magnussen inhaled. “I can smell it, already. He’s going to have his heat in…” another sniff, “I would say four hours, and he will be ready to conceive. That is fast. No doubt the stress has added to the development and production of hormones. I should like to run a blood test on him at some point. Perhaps between pregnancies. I would like to learn from his body, as well as father children with him. He is going to be a specimen of great interest.”

John lost it. He wrenched his arms from his captors, grabbing Magnussen by the shirt front and dragging him to the floor. “You bastard!” He got a hand around Magnussen’s throat and gripped hard. A punch landed on the side of his head, but John ignored it, trying to crush the life out of his rival. Hands were pulling at him, trying to prize him off, but John was a young alpha in a defensive rage, and he wouldn’t be beaten by a handful of betas this time.

“Steady on, Doctor Watson,” a reedy voice with a northern-Irish accent cut through the struggle. An omega voice.

John glanced up.

The scrawny omega, James, was edging toward Sherlock. “You needn’t do that, you know.”

“Ha!” John gripped Magnussen’s throat harder. There was a click behind his head. Guns. John hardly cared. Kill him, be done with it. He was as good as dead, anyway. If Sherlock was going to be nothing but a breeding machine for this evil man… John would rather not live in a world like that.

“John…” Sherlock rasped, reaching a trembling arm to him. “Stop…”

“Listen to your love,” Magnussen forced out, his hands trying to force John back. “He’s in danger from more than me.”

“Huh?” John gasped.

There was the sound of breaking glass.

John looked up to see the full-length mirror in shards, James having smashed it with his bare hands. Blood ran in rivulets down his arms as he picked up a slice of mirror and walked over to Sherlock with it. “I can make him bleed for a long time before he gets close to dying.”

“No!” John let go of Magnussen as though he was on fire. “No, stop!”

“Stop what?” James cocked his head on one side, twisting the shard as he stepped in front of Sherlock, still held by his guards.

“No!” John lunged.

James twisted like an eel. The mirrored glass stabbed John straight in the shoulder, right where his bullet wound was. John folded onto the floor in agony, screaming at the blade still embedded in his flesh.

Magnussen stood, and brushed down his suit. He coughed, touching his red neck. “How terribly tedious. As if I would ever have let this omega touch my mate to be. Though he did do terribly well to trick you.” He looked at James, taking his arm and pulling him close. “Thank you, my boy.”

“For you,” the omega smiled, and John heard his voice break – Christ, he was even younger than Sherlock. A child. Another child Magnussen had taken. Used.

“For me,” Magnussen agreed, dragging his teeth up James’ throat, but not biting down. James shuddered, looking somewhere between aroused and terrified. “Remember, you are owed a reward, won’t you?”

“Yes…. Sir.”

John yanked out the glass, cutting his fingers, and groaning as blood pulsed from the slender wound. “Fuck!”

“Ah, yes. Thank you, for reminding me.” Magnussen turned to his men. “Take Sherlock to the car. Bind him, if you must. My car. James, follow in the convoy as before.”

“You can’t…” John tried to get up, his arms giving way. “Stop. Sherlock!”

“John…” Sherlock was dragged up, his arms reaching weakly for John, the hideous bite-mark on his neck. “John!”

“Sherlock!”

Magnussen bent down. “You see, Doctor Watson? I do so hate to lose these little games.” He straightened up, then kicked John in the ribs, leaving him crying and gasping on the carpet.

“No…” he tried to get up, to follow, and to fight… Blood was soaking through his clothes, and there was a smell of burning…

Fire.

No.

Gunpowder.

A noise like a bomb going off echoed through the room. John covered his ears too late, leaving them ringing as two more explosions burst around him.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” Someone was shouting.

Siger?

John moaned, and forced his eyes open to see.

His mouth dropped open.

Mycroft – bookish, shy Mycroft – was standing holding an unsilenced firearm that looked like it would bring down a plane if he asked it to. He was standing legs apart, like a trained man, gun turned at what was left of Magnussen’s men. “Where the fuck is my brother?”

“Hold on, now, son,” one of the beta guards raised a hand. “What’s done is done, you don’t need to get yourself – ”

Mycroft shot at the ceiling. Plaster shattered over the room. Mycroft lowered the gun at to aim square at the man’s chest. “I don’t believe that’s the answer to my question.”

“He’s gone, kid. They’ve all gone. Look for yourself. We’re the last car.”

Mycroft didn’t look, but his lips went thin. “I see. Then, I have no more use for any of you.” He clicked a switch on the gun and fired four times in quick successful, each guard dropping like a stone as the sedative dart pierced their skin. Mycroft clicked the safety on. “And who are you?”

John winced, looking over.

James was still in the room, sitting on the bed where Sherlock had lain, sniffing the bedsheets. “Me?” His bloody hands were staining the linen.

“Yes, omega, you.”

“Oh, I was supposed to go with them. Bit difficult now, mind.” He shrugged. “He’ll send someone for me. He hates losing his possessions.”

“You’re one of Magnussen’s?”

“I’m one of his omegas, yes,” James sat up.

“That’s impossible. No one can bond more than once.”

“Oh, we’re not bonded. He just uses me. For locks, security, sex.”

Mycroft lowered his gun. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Holy hell.”

“Mycroft,” John choked out. “They’ve taken him.”

Mycroft tore his eyes from James and looked down at John. “Yes, I know. And you were with him, when it happened.”

“Mycroft…”

The omega shook his head. “You must think I am so stupid. Or don’t have a nose. I could smell Sherlock on you the first time we did gifting. I figured you’d just come across him, but then he came home with bandaged fingers, stinking of you… It was obvious he’d been in your flat. Slept there, in your den. He even kept the pyjamas you gave him, did you know that? Slept with them in his bed. I bet they’re there now,” Mycroft’s eyes were shining with tears, now. “At the bonfire party… I knew what you were doing. I knew. I could smell him on you. Smell the sex you’d had. I knew it. It was so, so stupid of me to ever dream that you might fancy me as much as I liked you, but I never dreamed you’d… with my little brother!”

“I’m so-”

“No,” Mycroft sniffed, “no, you’re not sorry. I was… I was going to overlook it, just keep going, hope it was a phase, and that as we kept courting you might see me…” he brushed angrily at his eyes. “I just wanted you to look at me the way you look at him. And you were never going to. You… chose him. I was just in your way…”

“Mycroft,” John tried to sit up. “I never wanted to hurt you…”

“But you have!” Mycroft shouted. “John Watson… you’ve broken my fucking heart! I loved you! I loved you before I even met you because you were going to be mine, and I was going to be yours. You were going to be my husband, and I was going to be the mother of your children. You’ve ruined it!”

James burst out laughing on the bed. “You are all such idiots. Such petty idiots. What does it matter whose heart gets broken? We’re all just animals, aren’t we? Killing and fucking until we’re dead. It doesn’t matter. Someone bites you, or me, and we end up in love, or dead.”

“Oh, god…” John put a hand to his wound. If by some miracle Sherlock escaped without being knotted and bitten again by Magnussen, he would most likely die. Omegas suffered greatly in forced heats, and there had been stories of alphas dying before they could complete the bond, and the omega hurriedly being given to another alpha to mate with, before it was too late for them. They rarely had a choice in the matter, and once their life was on the line, they didn’t seem to care.

At least, that was the official story.

“Mycroft,” John forced out, “we need to save him. We can’t let him… that monster… have him.”

Mycroft winced, looking pained. “He… brought this on himself.”

“What?”

“He should have just mated with someone!” Mycroft kicked the chair over. “He had everyone crawling over him, he always has! And I had you – I was happy with you – I wanted you! He wasn’t happy with anyone!”

“Can you blame him?” John dragged himself up on the dressing table to lean, sitting up. “He was felt up by that old pervert, and he didn’t want anyone to just breed him, he wanted to be taken care of – fuck – he _needed_ to be taken care of! He’s barely out of childhood!”

“He’s a…” Mycroft put his head in his hands, then quickly looked up. “I can’t do this. I can’t. If you want to chase after him, you do it on your own. I’m through. You,” he looked at the omega. “You’d better come with me. I work for the government, I can get you away from Magnussen, make it so he can’t find you.”

“He fucking stabbed me,” John pointed out.

“Coming?” Mycroft ignored him.

James considered, then stood, reaching inside his blazer pocket. “Here,” he tossed a sealed syringe to John. “Painkiller. And adrenaline. Cam makes me use it when I’m tiring during… sessions.”

John caught it, reading the label. He wasn’t lying. “Thanks. I think.”

James nodded, and followed Mycroft out of the room.

John tore open the package, jamming the needle into his thigh through his clothes. “Ow, fuck.” He dropped the syringe, and tried to look at the stab wound. It wasn’t too deep, as stabbings went, but it was messy, and probably infected as fuck.

A surge of energy shot through John’s veins and he stood, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and joints. Plan. Now. Infection. Sort. Antiseptic. No time. Alcohol. Fridge.

There was a bottle of grey vodka in the tiny fridge. John dropped his jacket and poured the stuff directly over his wound, hissing at the sting, which quickly went away. He felt overcharged, on the edge, almost paranoid. But he had to act. Now!

Bandage.

John tore the pillowcase into strips, stuffing it into a ball and knotting a loose tie around his arm. It would do. It would have to do.

Follow them. Take a car.

John charged out of the door, down the backstairs he and Sherlock (oh, Sherlock…) had come up, to the back door of the Holmes’ manor. He skidded on the gravel as he fished his car keys out, groaning at the smallness and ineptitude of his vehicle. “Fucking hell.” He struggled with the keys – his car didn’t even have central locking. “Open up, you bitch.”

“Here,” something thumped his good arm.

He turned, tense, ready to attack.

“Good lord, you look wired,” Mycroft stood, holding what looked like a motorcycle helmet. “You’ll never catch them in that old banger. Come on.”

“I thought you didn’t want to help,” John followed him.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Do you have a motorbike?” John took the helmet he was handed. “Can you ride one?”

“Not a motorbike,” Mycroft went around the garages to point at his vehicle. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

“Mycroft,” John choked out, “why doesn’t that helicopter have any fucking _sides_?”

“It’s based on a microlite,” Mycroft showed John where to sit. “Sherlock and I made some improvements. Adding better blades, for instance. Improves the stability. We never got around to adding doors, it never seemed important. Now, are you coming, or not?”

“Fucking hell,” John jammed the helmet on. “Tell me again why I should trust you not to plunge me to my death?”

Mycroft started the engine. “Because I love you, very much,” he said simply. And the machine rose into the night air.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft to the rescue

“Where’s your mum?” John shouted over the intercom in his helmet. “How did you get out of there?”

“Father might be an arsehole in most respects, but don’t think he doesn’t know how to protect his property,” Mycroft said back, turning the controls. John tried not to look down. “As soon as I presented omega he sent me for self-defence classes. Sherlock, too. We learned how to fight off attacking alphas, operate firearms, that sort of thing.”

“Sherlock didn’t seem able to fight back,” John pointed out.

“He stopped going, of course. Said it was boring. So when Magnussen left three guards at my door, keeping Mummy and I inside, it didn’t take much to retrieve the revolver I had in my sock drawer.”

“You killed them?” John gasped.

“Darted them. Mummy went to get Father, she was so agitated without her alpha, I dread to think what it’s done for her blood pressure.”

John looked over the side of the chopper. “Can you tell where we are?”

“I’m following the electronic map, and their headlights,” Mycroft pointed down to the cars they were pursuing. "I don’t want to turn our beams on.”

“Won’t they hear this?”

“Unlikely, as they’re in those huge cars. And we are rather higher than one might recommend.”

“Jesus.” John gripped the sides of his seat. The wind whipped at his face, and he was ice-cold in only a suit. “Mycroft…”

“Don’t do this now, John, I’m trying to operate an aircraft.”

“Ok,” John clung on.

There were a few minutes of silence.

“You shouldn’t have kept gifting me after me stayed the night with you, you know,” Mycroft sighed.

“We didn’t… do anything.”

“No?”

“Well…” John was extremely glad Mycroft couldn’t see his face. “We didn’t have sex.”

Mycroft turned the wheel. “Why not?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because…” John thought about it. “Because he was…”

“On drugs,” Mycroft finished for him. “Correct?”

“Yes…”

Another silence.

“So, you didn’t have sex because he was high?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… difficult to find fault with. I suppose your intentions were honourable in that respect. I was somewhat hoping you’d have felt a touch of guilt, I have to say.”

John sighed. “Mycroft… I don’t think I’m the man you’ve built me up to be.”

“I’m sure you’re not, John.” Mycroft leaned over the side. “They’re slowing down. We must be close. I’ll have to drop you and land out of sight, catch up with you. Do you have a gun?”

“No –”

“There’s one under the seat. Take it when you get off. I’ll meet you… in the rose garden?”

“Where will Sherlock be?”

Mycroft made a hissing noise. “Did Magnussen bite him?”

“Yes…” John’s blood was suddenly up, raging at his ineptitude to protect, and the fact his omega, _his omega_ , was going into heat and he wasn’t there to help him.

Mycroft’s voice sounded strained. “Then I _imagine_ he’ll be taken to a bedroom. Hopefuly he won’t actually go into heat before we get to him. It can be over a day –”

“Magnussen said he had less than four hours.”

Mycroft cursed in French. “Stress. And fear. Alright then. We have two hours to rescue him. But…”

“But?”

“It’s fine.”

“Mycroft?”

“If he goes into heat on the way back, or when you’re there…”

John pressed his lips together. “Mycroft, you won’t be able to keep me away from him. I’m not being awful on purpose; if I smell him, I won’t be able to stop.”

“I know. And that’s if Magnussen is incapacitated enough to not be in the way.”

“Mycroft…”

“Be quick, and hopefully we can get him home, or drop you close, before he goes into full…”

John looked over the side. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“I just…” Mycroft sounded like he was crying. John was glad he couldn’t see. “I just don’t want to be there when you… if you have to… mate with him.”

“If you dropped me in the middle of some field as he went into heat, it could kill him,” John said. “Omegas die from uncompleted bond-bites, Mycroft.”

“I know!” Mycroft hissed. “But surely… there must be something… something…”

“It’s only going to be some _one_ ,” John said sadly. “If not me, some alpha he doesn’t know will have to… do it.”

Mycroft was definitely crying, now. “This is such a damn mess. Why couldn’t you just have told me, John? If you had, you could have done this properly instead of riling Magnussen up against you both, and now this. You might have even been able to court him properly! Not just by dropping yourself in it and having Sherlock interpret things as he bloody well likes, as usual.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you!”

“Well, you have. And now I have to let you be my brother in law instead of my mate to stop my little brother from dying. That’s not a happy ending for anyone. That’s barely an ending at all. The only person getting what he wants here is you.”

“You think I wanted any of this?” John snapped.

“You wanted him. You want him. Alive and safe, yes, but you’re going to get him, aren’t you?”

“Not if some madman fucks him first,” John made a fist. “Would you rather that happened, Mycroft?”

“I don’t know what I want, anymore. Apparently it doesn’t matter what I want, either.”

They swooped low, almost brushing the trees.

“Unbuckle your belt, and get the gun, if you can reach. I’ll tell you when to jump. You can see the house from here. They’ll notice us, so you’ll have to lose them. I’ll meet you in the rose garden in ten minutes.”

“Yessir,” John retrieved the loaded handgun, tucking it into his belt. “Mycroft… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me quite yet… Ok, jump!”

John leapt, not able to see the ground, trusting in Mycroft to know a safe distance to fall. He hit the dirt earlier than he expected, bending his knees and rolling to his feet, taking off immediately and heading to the tree-line. Guards could have dogs, and he didn’t intend to be caught. Mycroft’s chopper rose quickly, disappearing into the clouds.

John darted into the trees, keeping the lights of the house in his sights. He was closer than he thought – Mycroft had dropped him into the grounds. He climbed over a low wall, then doubled-back along it and ran more of less straight towards the house.

The mansion was a low-swelling of glass and cement in the countryside, with no visible security, though John didn’t doubt for a second that there was a camera on every lamp and a mic in every bush. He was counting on Magnussen and his staff being too busy wrestling Sherlock to a room to be looking at their monitors. The rose garden Mycroft had spoken about was actually a small patch of rose bushes close to the house. There was only one place to hide – in the middle of the thorns, beside an ornamental fountain that had naked omegas carved into the stone. John crouched, and waited, squinting through the one window he could see, the bright lights of the house like a stadium.

Figures moved inside. Large figures – bodyguards and security figures. Not Sherlock, or Magnussen. John held his breath as he heard a raised voice, then more as the shadows cast a struggle, arms in the air.

Sherlock was there, John knew it. Fighting.

_Oh god, what if he was in heat, already?_

John inhaled deeply, as if he had a chance in hell of being able to smell anything. The shadows moved again, and John saw clearly that Sherlock – it could only be him, struggling and fighting so hard – was being carried up the stairs by three security personnel. There was no way to tell how far off his heat was, though if he had the strength to struggle against three betas, he was clearly not in the throes quite yet.

“I’m here,” Mycroft crept in beside him. “Was that him?”

“They just took him upstairs.”

“Alright…” Mycroft bit his lip. In the dim, John could see just how much he had of his brother in him. Those pale eyes; the same clever, high forehead; the same hands. It was as though they had been pressed from identical moulds, only Mycroft’s had been slightly smudged. “We should go straight for Sherlock. Avoid the rest of the building.”

“Climb?”

“Exactly.”

“What about Magnussen?”

“One of us will most likely have to shoot him,” Mycroft said drily.

“You should go to Sherlock,” John realised. “Kin will calm his faster than… me.”

“You’re right. But… Murder, John? Are you up for that?”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” John sighed. “I was a soldier.”

“True enough. No one you have spoken to, though.”

“First time for everything.” John checked the weapon. “Ready?”

They slunk out of the gardens towards the ivy-covered trellis that covered the outside of one of the walls.

“You first,” Mycroft nodded. “You’re heavier, and you’ll need to shoot him before he has a chance to hurt Sherlock. No negotiation. Just… do it.”

“Got it.”

They climbed. John’s initial fear of Mycroft being poor at the task was quickly forgotten – Mycroft was physically fit, and kept pace with John easily. If he had been forced to lose weight quickly, he had retained his strength at least, and apparently gained muscle as he climbed without pausing for breath.

“Wait,” John held a hand. “Let me check which window…” he climbed onto a ledge and looked quickly into a dark room. A dark, empty room. “No. Climb across. We might have to go around.”

They moved quietly, their arms starting to ache before John found the illuminated fourth window. He listened, hearing a deep, menacing voice, and a sorrowful one that was unmistakably Sherlock. He sounded in pain. If Magnussen had taken him early… Oh Christ, John was going to shoot his fucking head off.

“This is the one,” John drew his gun. “I’ll have to shoot out the window, and then go through straight away. You go for Sherlock?”

“I will,” Mycroft adjusted his grip on the trellis. “John… If this goes badly… the chopper is in the wheat field to the east.”

John nodded. “And if this goes badly, save Sherlock first.”

Mycroft’s eyes went dark. “I will.”

They grasped hands, almost without thinking. It wasn’t quite a handshake. It was a need for touch before what could be disaster.

“Let’s do this.”

 

*

 

John was through the breaking glass, ignoring the cuts to his face, to his arms, looking for his target, for Sherlock, for –

“Oh, fuck.”

Sherlock was bound face-down to the bed, stripped naked and gagged, his eyes wide with horror.

In the corner of the room, an ipod played a recording of Magnussen’s voice reading out what sounded like his autobiography.

Sherlock made a noise – a cry out in warning.

Then the pain came.

John felt like the side of his head had been taken off. He fell to the wooden floor like a sack of bricks, the gun skittering from his hand, breath knocked out of him.

“John!”

“Drop the gun, Mycroft,” Magnussen stepped from where he’d been stood beside the window, out of sight. He dropped the iron pipe he’d struck John with, and levelled a weapon of his own at Sherlock. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“You won’t,” Mycroft smirked. “You’ve wanted him since you saw him playing with trains in the drawing room. You’re not about to give him up quite yet, I gather.”

“You’re right.” Magnussen kept eye contact with Mycroft and turned the gun to John. “How does this suit you better?”

“My…” John slurred, the sight in his right eye nothing but a red haze. “…croft… no.”

“Five seconds, Mycroft.”

John shut his eyes.

A thud sounded behind him. A kick, and Mycroft’s handgun skidded to Magnussen’s feet.

“Thank you.” He picked it up. “Now, please explain to me why I shouldn’t shoot you both for trespassing on my property at all?”

“E- em ‘oh!” Sherlock shouted through his gag. “Oo, ‘an ‘ave ‘ee!”

“I am going to have you anyway,” Magnussen laughed. “What, you think your brother and lover have some scheme planned? It is over. It is done. They are trespassers and have broken into my house. You will be bitten and knotted and unable to testify against me. This is a game, of which I am always the win-”

Magnussen’s head exploded.

The bang was deafening, a pistol without a silencer like a bomb going off as a bullet shot through the older alpha’s brain. His forehead shattered, and John heaved as his body slammed to the floorboards, only inches away from his own face.

“Oh god…” Mycroft breathed.

John looked up, his good eye watering with the effort.

A smoking gun was in the hand of a young boy, only sixteen. His black hair was on end, and his eyes were wide, in shock at his own daring.

“Oh, my…” he looked at the gun as if unable to process what he’d done. “Well, I suppose I’d better…” he turned the gun to point it under his own chin.

Mycroft lunged, knocking the boy’s hand out of the way.

The gun went off, blasting a crater in the ceiling, and Mycroft easily wrestled the weapon from James, sitting on his chest to hold him still.

“It’s ok,” Mycroft said. “It’s fine. You don’t have to –”

“They’ll come and see what I’ve done,” James giggled breathily. “What you’ve done. It’s over. They’ll wait for Cam to give the all-clear, and when it doesn’t come, they’ll get us all. We need to die, don’t you get it?”

“No,” Mycroft spat. “I don’t.” He looked at John. “Get Sherlock. We have to get out of here, now. And this one is coming with us. How did you even get here so fast?” he asked.

“I said he’d send someone for me,” James looked at the corpse. “He does so hate to lose his things.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men have to escape, and some nasty truths about James come out as Sherlock's heat enters the danger zone.

John untied Sherlock, who spat his gag out and promptly covered himself with his hands.

“Where’re your clothes?” Mycroft hissed.

“I don’t fucking know, I didn’t exactly take a moment to ask,” Sherlock snapped back.

“Boys, please, not here.” John took off his jacket and started to hand it to Sherlock before Mycroft stopped him.

“Not an alpha scent. Here,” he pulled off his own coat. “Smells of kin, at least.”

Sherlock put it on and stood, fastening all the buttons so the coat covered him almost to the knee. “How did you get here? The microlite?”

“Yes-”

“Will it really take four of us back?” Sherlock glanced at James, who was staring dreamily at the broken window.

“It’ll have to. Come on!” Mycroft went to the window. He looked at James. “Can you climb?”

“A bit.”

“You come after me, then. Quickly.” Mycroft swung his long legs through the frame, and James climbed through carefully, looking anxiously at the height of the drop.

“Are you ok to climb?” John asked Sherlock.

“I should…” he stopped and swallowed hard, shuddering.

John was about to ask what was wrong when the thick scent hit his nostrils. “Oh…” he clamped a hand over his nose and mouth. “Fuck. Sherlock… go, quickly.”

Sherlock wobbled over to the window, hunching as another cramp coiled in his insides, and the barest trickle of slick ran down the inside of his leg like a teardrop.

John wanted to lick that drop.

Sherlock climbed over the windowsill, griping hard onto the ivy, and John was grateful to whichever gods were watching this that the omega had gone first. If he’d been arse-naked above John, the alpha would probably have fainted.

“Come ON!” Mycroft’s vicious whisper came from below, then – “Oh, no.”

“I’ll be alright,” Sherlock dropped onto the gravel, hissing in his naked feet. “I’ll… uhhhh…” he bent over again as John landed beside him, the scent intensifying for a moment along with the cramp. “Fuck, I never get… why?”

“Because it’s a forced heat,” James shrugged. “You’re getting cramps because your uterus and cervix weren’t ready.” He sniffed the air. “He’s got about thirty minutes before he’s in danger.”

“Where…” Sherlock sighed through his pain. “Where is…?”

“Two fields over,” Mycroft took his brother’s arm. “John, stay back as much as you can. I think you’re setting him off.”

“Jesus…” John let Mycroft and James drag a flinching Sherlock over the gravel paths, to the tall wall. Mycroft gave his brother a leg-up.

Sherlock was on the top when the alarms started.

John gasped as the gardens were immediately illuminated with floodlights, the red roses bleached white in the brightness, the house gleaming. A terrible wailing alarm like an ambulance crossed with an air-raid siren pierced through the air, and the four men froze in shock.

But only for an instant.

“GO!” Mycroft bellowed.

James shot up the wall, climbing like a monkey. John shoved Mycroft up, following him, being yanked over the wall by hands that could have belonged to anyone.

“I don’t understand!” Mycroft had him by the collar, Sherlock staggering along beside. “Why are they bothering to search? Their employer’s had his head shot off, why are they still loyal to him?”

John shook his head, trying not to speak. The scent of fear laced with Sherlock’s growing heat was making him feel drunk.

“It hurts…” Sherlock’s knees buckled. Mycroft and James hauled him up. “I…” he eyes met John’s, then went blank. “I need… my…”

John stared at him, then looked at Mycroft. “Why… why isn’t he… going for me?”

James answered him. “He’s been forced. His instinct is to look for the alpha that bit him, to complete the bond. Don’t worry. He’ll get desperate enough to accept anyone eventually.”

Something painful lanced through John, and he growled, making Mycroft and James step back, but Sherlock looked up with interest.

“Less of this, please,” Mycroft started moving again. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

Sherlock kept glancing at John the rest of the way, though the sounds of shouting and dogs barking came from behind them. Mycroft muttered darkly about the stupidity of the situation, and James stared into space as if all of this was a lovely outing, and he hadn’t just shot a man to make it happen.

John shook his head, trying to ignore the itchy feeling of his clothes, and the increasing tightness of his trousers, that seemed to throb every time a trickle of slick escaped Sherlock.

“I can see it,” Mycroft gasped. And he was right – the moonlight was lancing off one of the chopper blades. “John… Sherlock is going to have to sit on your lap. I know it’s… going to be… distracting, but…”

“Mycroft,” John shook his head. “No. I’ll… I’m barely holding it together as it is. Don’t put us in that position.”

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked, acidly. Then shook his head. “Fine. James, you go with John. If Sherlock reaches a point where…” he closed his eyes for a moment. “We’ll deal with it. We’ll just… deal with it.”

John caught Mycroft’s eye, and saw the pain there. He knew what the omega was doing – organising things to stay away from his emotions. He’d seen people do it at funerals – organise the catering and the seating rather than face-up to their grief. Mycroft was fighting a losing battle, even as Sherlock doubled-over again, more slick coming out of him, and John let out an inhuman moan of want.

“Stop it!” Mycroft snapped, standing in front of his brother. “Control yourself!”

“He can help me,” Sherlock put a hand on his protector’s arm. “Mycroft… he can help.”

“I can – ” John stepped forward, his mouth actually watering, now. “I…”

“No!” Mycroft grabbed Sherlock and bundled him into the seat. “We have to _leave_!”

“I can see their torches,” James offered helpfully.

“Bloody _hell,_ ” John climbed in behind him, terribly aware and ashamed of the erection threatening to tear his trousers apart at the seams. “James, just… keep your distance…”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re aroused,” James shrugged. “You want to mate with him, it’s only nature.”

“God.”

Mycroft started the microlite, and the blades spun, lifting the groaning machine into their air. Apparently with an additional sixteen stones on board, there was reason to complain.

“Come on, girl,” Mycroft cooed to the engine, and they lifted higher, the air pressure helping as they took off.

Sherlock let out a wail then, shaking in his seat, heady scent of heat hitting John square in the nostrils and making him moan. “John!”

“He’s starting to lose it,” James observed. “He’s probably in full heat. If no one bites him in the next few hours he could go into shock.”

“How do you know all this?” Mycroft snapped.

“Cam used to use it as a punishment,” James said. “Bite and start a heat, then abandon the omega and let them die in their own heat-fluids and fever. He used to come back and show us their corpse, let us see what would happen to us.”

“My god,” John breathed. “So… he had some sort of harem of you all?”

James looked back at him. “Not as such. He… kept us close. We were always his.”

Mycroft’s hands slipped on the controls slightly. “James…”

“Jim,” James corrected sadly. “I prefer Jim.”

“Jim,” John touched the young omega’s arm. “What are you trying to tell us?”

Jim shrugged. “I told you I was one of his omegas.”

“Yes, but… _his_?”

Jim nodded.

“But you said… he used you.”

“He used all of us, when we were in heats,” Jim looked at his hands. “Didn’t want anyone else contaminating us.” He looked up. “But he needed a new mate, of course. Our mothers… never lasted long.”

The grim thought of Sherlock’s could-have-been fate made John want to punch something. Added with the poor, abused omega in front of him… John put an arm around Jim and held him firmly. “We’ve got you, now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim didn’t try to escape. “He’s dead, but they’ll come for me. They’ll find me. The others.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t,” Mycroft called. “I can make you disappear. Even from them.”

Jim looked uncertain, but didn’t argue back as Sherlock let out a sob, his hands trying to get the coat off, to get behind himself.

“Mycroft, please stop…” he moaned. “Please… I can’t…”

“No!”

“Mycroft!” John snarled.

“Just… let me get f-further a-away,” Mycroft’s voice was cracking, now, the inevitability of what his brother and his betrothed had to do starting to hit home. “We – we can try and find… something… Someone.”

“Don’t want a stranger!” Sherlock struggled against his seatbelt. “John!”

“You never minded fucking strangers before!” Mycroft riled back.

“This isn’t him just fucking someone!” John shouted. Jim covered his ears. “Mycroft, he has to _bond_. He’s going to die!”

Sherlock sobbed in fright.

Mycroft gripped the controls to hard his knuckles shone.

“Mycroft, please…” John leaned forward, speaking to the back of his betrothed’s head. “Mycroft, he’s your brother. You don’t want him in pain, and you don’t want him bonding with a stranger who could abuse him just like the man we just rescued him from.”

“I don’t want him bonding with _you_!” Mycroft cried, and Sherlock covered his face with his hands even as he shook with the ache of his heat.

“I’m not what you want!” John sighed. “I’m… I’m a mess, Mycroft. I’ve let you down, and I’ve  - I’ve messed about with your brother, and I’ve  - ”

“Broken my heart,” Mycroft finished for him.

“Yes.” John scrubbed at his eyes. “The alpha you wanted – that strong, alpha soldier you fell in love with, he wouldn’t do this. He wasn’t me. You didn’t know the real me. The real me is flawed and stupid and broken and injured and a liar. You wouldn’t love me if you’d met me first.”

Mycroft didn’t reply.

“Mycroft, please. Land us somewhere. Look at Sherlock. He’s hurting.”

There was a minute of nothing, then Mycroft started the microlite down, towards what looked like an old barn.

 

*

 

“Oh Jesus,” John helped Sherlock out of the seat and buried his face in his neck. “Oh… Sherlock…”

Sherlock was already stripping off the coat, his skin hot, face flushed, trying to climb up onto John’s hips as though John were the taller one. “Please. Please, please, please…”

“Get into the barn,” Mycroft pointed, and Jim took Sherlock by the arm, helping him into the warm.

John made to follow, then looked at Mycroft. “Mycroft…”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mycroft sniffed. “I know this is what you want. You want him as your mate, and that’s what you’re getting.”

“I never wanted it like this.”

“Circumstance be damned,” Mycroft cracked a knuckle. “You… you never wanted me.”

John couldn’t bring himself to shake his head. “I…”

“You could have bitten me,” Mycroft stepped forward. “If you truly didn’t want to hurt me. I don’t mean on Magnussen’s orders. I mean, at all. You could have ignored your feelings for Sherlock and bitten me. There’d’ve been a little uproar, yes, but then… we would have been mates,” his eyes shone. “I would have been a good mate for you.”

John nodded. “I – I know you would have. And I am sorry. For… everything.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, then closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss onto John’s mouth.

John stayed still, and let him.

It was over quickly.

“I just wanted to try it,” Mycroft said, putting his fingertips to his bottom lip. “Just to try.”

“It’s alright,” John resisted the urge to wipe his mouth. He looked at the microlite. “Will you leave? Take James… Jim?”

“I think we’d better wait for you,” Mycroft winced. “I’ll take Jim and… talk to him. I doubt anyone has even talked with him, before.”

“Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“Can anyone ever be alright after being treated like a bitch by their own alpha father?” Mycroft shuddered. “I don’t know.”

Jim came out of the barn. “John, he’s desperate. Can you go to him – ”

John brushed past him into the barn, the smell of hay filling his nostrils. He didn’t notice the door being closed behind him, only that Sherlock was face-down, arse-up on the hay piles, his fingers sunk deep into himself, tears running in streaks down his beautiful face.

“John!”

“I’m here,” John fought to get out of his clothes. “I’m here, love, I’m here.”

“Love?” Sherlock looked in shock.

_The Fifth Gift._

_Love._

“I love you,” John said, dropping to his knees. “I would have you be mine. I am never going to let anyone hurt you again.”

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally get to bond.

Sherlock sobbed, keeping his fingers in himself. “John…It hurts. My insides…”

“I know, love,” John breathed, massaging a hand over Sherlock’s back and spine. “Let me help you?”

“Please,” Sherlock withdrew his fingers, crying out as his arse contracted around a knot that wasn’t there, aching with the need to be bred, to be filled. “John!” He cocked his neck to the side, showing John the ugly bite that was already there – the one Magnussen had started and John would have to finish. It stuck out on Sherlock’s alabaster skin so badly, the same as the rope-burns on his wrists and the cuts and bruises on his arms. John wanted to kiss them all better.

“Shh,” John kissed up his back, scenting his neck, getting high on the thick smell that begged for a second bite. “My Sherlock. Going to make you mine forever. Is that what you want?”

“I want you,” Sherlock shuddered, the scenting relaxing his body. “I want to be your mate, John… Please…” he exposed his throat.

“All in good time,” John dropped his hand down. “Let’s take the edge off this heat, first, ok?”

“What – ahh!” Sherlock gasped as John slipped two fingers inside him, finding his prostate on the first go. “Oh…”

“God, you’re so wet,” John breathed, scissoring his fingers before moving to gently massage Sherlock’s prostate. “So ready for me.”

“I want you,” Sherlock whispered, rocking his hips gently against John’s touches. “Oh, god, John… Need your knot, please…”

“You’re so close,” John murmured back, his free hand moving to stroke over Sherlock’s cock, feather-light. “You can relax, love, don’t hold back from me.”

“Ahh…” Sherlock hid his face in the crook of his elbow. “J-John!” He gasped, then cried out softly, ejaculate pumping in thick strings onto the soft hay, his arse clenching around John’s fingers as his orgasm crashed over him.

“Such a good omega,” John immediately resumed his scenting, inhaling the high notes of orgasm and sexual satisfaction mingled with the desperate heat. “So good for me, Sherlock. You ok?”

“Yes,” Sherlock lifted his head. “Can think a little clearer… for the moment…” his eyes focussed on John. “I don’t feel well.”

“I know.” John kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you better.”

“This is all wrong,” Sherlock knelt up so John could cuddle him properly. “I wanted… a bed. Silk sheets. A… ceremony. I wanted…” he groaned as a cramp came on again. “Ow. John…” he turned his face into the alpha’s neck, scenting and comforting himself. “Don’t make me wait. It hurts. I…”

John held him tight, and close. “Come on, then. Here,” he pulled his coat off and laid it on the hay. “Do you want to lie down?”

“Want to be on my knees,” Sherlock shuddered. “Want to present.”

“On my jacket, then.”

Sherlock complied, his urge to please the alpha almost his top priority. He looked back as John stripped off his shirt, trousers, shoes, undressing quickly before dropping to his knees himself, and finally getting to taste between Sherlock’s legs.

John licked a wet stripe from Sherlock’s scrotum to his arse crack, making the omega moan and drop his head. He didn’t pause, returning immediately to the twitching, open hole and swirling his tongue around the slightly puffy edge.

Sherlock cried out, parting his legs further in invitation as John dipped a finger loosely inside him, tongue hooking around the soft flesh and teasing with dips into the soaking passage. “John!”

“My Sherlock,” John breathed against the hot, damp flesh, penetrating Sherlock further with fingers and tongue, with taste and touch until a flood of slick rewarded him, and John was forced to wipe his chin with the back of his arm. “I need to claim you. You’re… so close…”

“Please,” Sherlock begged. “Make me yours!”

John gripped his erection, lining up as he felt the very beginnings of his knot already. This was going too fast. He had dreamed about this. About making Sherlock delirious with pleasure before he took him. About making him cry and sob and beg for a bite even as John knotted into his tight arse.

But there was no time. Sherlock was pale and shaking and needy and his body demanded a mate.

John pushed inside, slowly, feeling the pull-back of his skin as he withdrew a fraction and plunged back inside. There was no resistance in Sherlock’s arse – he needed this so badly his body would have taken almost anything. John let out a sigh that Sherlock mirrored, the two of them so close to fulfilling what they had started those months ago. And then finally, they connected as deep as possible, John’s glans nudging Sherlock’s softened cervix.

“Oh, fuck….” He let out a shaking breath. “My omega… I can feel how ready you are…”

Sherlock let out a sob. “I… I want you, John. I’m…” he bent over further, his insides rubbing deliciously over John’s hardness. “I want…”

“You’re on the pill, aren’t you?” John stroked his hair.

Sherlock let out a laugh. “Was supposed to take… this evening…”

“You’ll be ok…”

“Forced heat, mating…” Sherlock shook his head. He looked around and met John’s eyes. “It’s ok. Do it.”

“Sherlock – ”

“Do it!”

“But – ”

“Breed me!”

“Sher –”

“I want your pups,” Sherlock moved his hips, starting to fuck himself on John’s throbbing cock. “Fuck me! Breed me! I want to be so full of your come I fucking _drip for days_.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” John held onto Sherlock’s hips and started to match his movements. There was no sensuality, no finesse as they moved. It was breaking waves on rocks – smashing flesh together as they shouted and moaned. Wet slaps filed the air as they fought and struggled and fucked desperately. Sherlock spread his legs wide, John holding the omega’s head down onto the hay, jackhammering his hips as he nudged Sherlock’s cervix with every thrust.

“John!”

“Come up,” John pulled Sherlock up by the shoulders, so the omega’s back was to his chest, neck pulled to the side, exposing that awful bite – the one John had to correct. “Oh, fuck, Sherlock. I love you.”

Sherlock sobbed in reply, baring his throat further, begging for a bond, showing his submission. He was a good omega, he was so good, he’d be a good mate and good mother to John’s children, he was so obedient, and took John’s cock so well…

“Oh…” John moaned, realising Sherlock was speaking out loud. “Oh, fucking hell, my omega.”

“I want it, I want you,” Sherlock breathed. His entrance was contracting rhythmically now, as John’s knot swelled inside him, slipping in and out of his soaking passage. “My alpha. My mate. My John.”

“My Sherlock!”

“I can feel your knot,” Sherlock gasped, flaring his pelvis to accommodate it. “Oh, John. Knot me. Knot me so hard, please!”

John thrust up harder, faster, his hips aching as hot pleasure burst through him and the thick knot forced its way past Sherlock’s entrance, making him cry out in that fierce pleasure-pain that only omegas were able to bear. A spurt of white spat from Sherlock’s cock as he came, insides clenching gratefully around John’s knot, and John was done for. His orgasm hit him like an express train.

He nudged Sherlock’s jaw to one side, and bit.

Over the mark Magnussen had made. Breaking the skin, letting blood well to the surface, flood into his mouth like dark wine, the sensation changing him like flicking a switch. John’s brain reprogrammed, accepting the omega in his arms, around his cock, as his mate for life. Their scents mingled for a moment before separating, forever changed – forever with a hint of their other within their skin.

It was like dying.

It was like being born.

John released his jaw, noticing numbly that he was, somehow, impossibly, still coming, still filling a sobbing Sherlock with his ejaculate. He tenderly licked the bond-mark – the bite that would eventually scar red and always be a mark of how Sherlock belonged to John. He licked up the blood, sealing the wound with the coagulating saliva only produced in moments like these.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock whispered.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John gathered him into his arms, as close as he could, though they were still fastened together and would be for up to ten minutes, yet. “My mate.”

“I’ve got a mate,” Sherlock said, and John could feel him smiling. “I’m bonded to you. I can feel it in my mind. I’m… yours. I’ll always be yours.”

“I do hope so,” John kissed his throat, scenting his mate comfortingly. “I do very much hope so.”

 

*

 

As soon as they could peel apart, John gave Sherlock his shirt and socks, and, both half-dressed, they slunk out of the barn, hand-in-hand.

“I think I’ll have a couple of hours before the nest wave,” Sherlock said, John’s shirt past his thighs, staggering on wobbly legs. “Mating seems to have made the process much more bearable.”

“As long as it’s done that,” John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock looked at him and smirked. “Let’s not tell our grandchildren about this. Let’s cook up some story.”

“I’m pretty sure your parents will want an alternative ending,” John sighed. “Besides, I still owe you a courtship gift.”

“True,” Sherlock looked at his ring-less hand. “I would like a ceremony, I think.”

“You want a white suit and a party?”

“Maybe not a white suit,” Sherlock winced. “Feels a little like cheating, on that front. It’s not exactly a secret,” he pointed at his wounded throat.

“It looks so sore,” John stroked it with a finger.

“It is, a bit. But it’s a nice sort of sore.” Sherlock smiled. “We should try to find Mycroft, if we’re going to get home before my next wave.”

John got out his phone and sent a text, Sherlock finding a bottle of water in the microlite and draining it immediately.

Mycroft came through the trees after a few moments, looking as though he’d been crying. His eyes were red, and the tip of his nose was pink. He looked straight at Sherlock’s neck. “It’s done, then?”

Sherlock nodded, pulling the cotton down over his legs. “Yes.”

Mycroft glanced at the ground, then came over. Sherlock kept his eyes lowered, a submissiveness John had never seen his display in front of his brother.

Mycroft bent his head and quickly scented him. Then looked up in surprise. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you’d smell…” Mycroft sniffed again. “That makes me feel…”

“Alright?” Sherlock offered.

“Yes,” Mycroft blinked. “Why doesn’t that make me feel sad? You’re… with John.”

“Because you can’t be with him, you don’t want to be,” Sherlock said gently. “Try him?”

John stayed still as Mycroft gave his neck a testing inhale.

“No,” Mycroft blinked, looking mystified. “That’s… soothing, if anything. I don’t… feel sad. What is that?”

“Either Sherlock is right,” John smiled, “or I’m producing some sort of natural antidepressant. Either is fine, by me.”

The three men grinned for a moment, Mycroft looking from his brother to John as though they’d dropped out of the sky.

John realised. “Where’s James? Jim?”

“Gone,” Mycroft folded his arms. “I said I’d help him disappear. And I have. You won’t find a Jim Magnussen on any file, now.”

“And you did that with just your phone?” John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, you’re not the only one who’s been keeping secrets. Has Mycroft even told you about his job?”

“You work in the government?” John looked at him.

“Mycroft _is_ the government.”

“Oh, please,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I occupy a minor position. It’s honestly nothing –”

“And you can make a sixteen year old omega disappear without a trace in less than an hour?” Sherlock smirked, then winced. “Oh… Mycroft, any chance we can leave, now? I think I rather need my mate.”

“Oh, hell,” Mycroft looked disgusted. “Come on. Our parents aren’t going to know whether to be pleased you’ve finally bonded, or furious it was with my fiancé.”

“A bit of both,” Sherlock suggested. “I doubt they’ll want a bonded couple under their roof as soon as my heat is – uhh – over. Any ideas what to do there?”

“I can think of a few,” Mycroft started the chopper. “How do you feel about central London?”


	14. Epilogue

 

**Five Months Later**

 

 

 

 

“You know you actually to accept your place before you can start calling yourself a UCL Student, don’t you?” John watched Sherlock update his website. “That’s false advertising.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sherlock pressed ‘enter’. “It’s only a formality. Besides, they came to me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” John put Sherlock’s tea within reach.

“Is that decaf?”

“You know it is.”

“John!”

“You know the rules,” John sipped his own full-strength cup. “One cup of caffeinated tea per day. Midwife’s orders.”

“Oh, what do they know?” Sherlock muttered darkly into his mug, putting a hand to the tiny bump rounding out his stomach. “Uh, hot drinks make her do backflips, or something.”

“At least she’s not battering your bladder again.”

“She saves that for the moment I get comfortable in bed at night.”

The door slammed downstairs. “Sherlock?”

“We’re up here,” John called down as Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his tea.

An alpha with greying hair, a little older than John, gave him a look before he stepped over the threshold.

John nodded, letting the alpha into his territory.

“Thanks. You alright, Sherlock, you look…” Greg stopped, feeling John’s eyes burn into him. “I meant you look very… pregnant.”

“I do not!” Sherlock gasped, outraged. “I only started to show last week.”

John hid his smile behind his hand. Since he and Sherlock moved to central London, Greg had become less of a rival and more of a friend. He was, John had been appalled to learn, the ‘Gregory’ Sherlock had considered for a mate, once upon a time. But Sherlock showed no sign of any lingering attachment. He used ‘Lestrade’, as he chose to call him, now, for work only – his hobby of playing detective actually starting to bring in some money.

“Well, anyway, I wondered if you could have a look at these,” Greg took a wad of photos out of his bag. “Have you got a moment?”

“Sure,” Sherlock hopped down and took the photos to look at them beside the window. In the shaft of light, his tiny bump was more evident, his t-shirt stretching ever-so slightly over it.

John couldn’t wait until he looked like he was smuggling a beach-ball. They were closer than ever, now. Their bonding ceremony had happened quickly, both sets of their parents apologetic and outraged (and a tiny bit pleased) at the circumstances. Mycroft acted as Sherlock’s Best Man, and the day went beautifully, with John finally getting to slip a ring – the gift of Wealth – onto Sherlock’s finger.

Sherlock dropped the ‘I’m pregnant’ bombshell during the reception, making his mother burst into tears.

Mycroft had been pleasant during the entire thing, though when the time came for Sherlock and John’s first dance, he was curiously absent.

John couldn’t blame him. The omega felt no animosity towards John or his brother – nature simply wouldn’t allow him to – but he wouldn’t feel pleased for them quite yet.

Bridges were being built, however.

“John? Sherlock?” the front door slammed again.

Sherlock looked up. “Uh, honestly. If he’s brought more presents…”

“He just wants to be involved,” John went to greet his brother in law, who was struggling up the steps with two carrier bags full of pink and white baby clothes. “Oh, god, Mycroft.”

“You’ll thank me, one day,” Mycroft shoved the bags into John’s arms. “Age one year and up. Save them.” He sniffed the air. “Visitor?”

“Greg Lestrade, Sherlock’s… thing.”

“Thing?”

“Friend? Who knows. They work together. Go on through.” John struggled up to the top floor with the bags, dropping them in the centre of the half-decorated nursery. He went back downstairs, where voices sounded rather on edge. “Everything alright?”

Sherlock was looking from his brother to Greg, an expression of annoyance on his face. “Lestrade was one of my… proposed,” he was saying. “You remember?”

“I don’t,” Mycroft wasn’t even looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Perhaps you were at university. I don’t know, I don’t track your movements.”

John looked up at Greg, whose face was frozen in some sort of surprise. “Greg? You ok?”

“Yeah…” he blinked and seemed to shake himself. “Er… shall I make everyone some tea?”

“Already got some,” Sherlock snorted.

“I’m ok,” John said.

“Mr Holmes?” Greg’s eyes flicked to Mycroft, and John twigged what was happening. “Tea?”

Mycroft almost blushed, a pink tinge staining his cheeks. “Oh… yes. Thank you. Gregory.”

Greg beamed, and went off into the kitchen.

Mycroft smoothed his hair down at the back. “You never mentioned that one.”

“Well, there were so many, it was difficult to keep tra-” Sherlock noticed his brother’s discomfort. “Oh. Ohhh.”

“Shut up,” Mycroft hissed.

“I haven’t said a word,” Sherlock smirked, stroking over his bump.

“Then don’t.”

“I shan’t!”

John sat on the sofa, watching the two omega brothers snipe at one another. Greg was making tea in the teapot – the one that never got used – and kept glancing behind him as if to check Mycroft was still there.

It was beautifully domestic.

Sherlock noticed him smiling, and came over to sit in his lap. “Daydreaming, love?”

“Just appreciating the view,” John scented his mate gently. “I wouldn’t mind tell our grandchildren about this part.”

“But this part is boring,” Sherlock let himself be fussed. “No one wants to read about or listen to this part. The tea and work and bills and laundry part.”

“But this is the part that lasts,” John cupped over Sherlock’s bump. “The love part.”

“I suppose,” Sherlock looked back as Mycroft accepted tea and a biscuit from Greg. “Strange.”

“No stranger than us.”

“Mm,” Sherlock leaned against John’s shoulder. “I like that.”

“Honestly, I’d prefer less danger if their courtship,” John whispered. “I’m not having you running all over the country in your condition.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock kissed his cheek. “As if she’s going to stop me doing anything.”

“Uni doesn’t start again until October.”

“And she’ll be a month old.”

“You’ll be a mother.”

“And a student, and a detective, and your mate,” Sherlock drew his knees up, snuggling in. “I wonder what else I could be.”

“Happy?” John suggested, stroking his mate’s back.

“I’m already that.”

They smiled at one another, and kissed in the afternoon sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, that's a wrap!
> 
> Thank you so, so, much, everyone for all the support, comments and kudos - you've really helped spur me on with this story. It's been a pleasure to invent this world for Sherlock, John and Mycroft, and I'm sure I'll be visiting it again, one day.


End file.
